Odyssey
by LissaB
Summary: As Ben travels to see an ill Adam at Harvard, he recalls a similar journey they made together so many years ago, from Boston to what was eventually to become the Ponderosa.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This story is a little unique among my stories in that it involves less of the entire family. But I always wanted to write about what it might have been like when the Cartwright family consisted of just Ben and Adam. I also always wanted a peek at some of Adam's "other" family. In the show, we get to see Hoss and his Uncle Gunnar and Joe and Clay and even a couple of episodes that involve people who knew Marie, but somehow there are no episodes about Adam's relatives other than the "My Love" ones. I wanted to fill in that gap, so Adam and his grandfather figure largely in this story too. It contains two simultaneous timelines, one running forward and the other backward until they meet in the middle, so I'm not quite sure how it will break up for posting yet. Could be some longish sections, so I hope you'll bear with me._

_0_

_2002: I actually started this story right after "The Rubicon", so I have been working on it for at least two years - probably longer, but I won't depress myself by counting. I stopped to write "Love's Labours", then "Dragon Dance", then "WHN Vengeance" and any number of chains and other projects in between. It required such an endless and tedious amount of research at every turn that I almost gave it up numerous times, so no one is more surprised than myself to see it finally finished. _

_A few things you should know: since this is a piece of Bonanza fanfiction and has no pretensions as a work of historical fiction, where Bonanza history and American history clash, I have been true to Bonanza history. Where no Bonanza history was established, I have been faithful to American history. The incident that takes place in Fernley, PA in the story is based on an actual occurrence in a real mining town, and Ben's chapter titles are borrowed from Robin Lister's translation of Homer's "The Odyssey". References to the Marie/Adam history are based on Vicki Christian's vision as shown in her lovely stories. For those who like to know such things, I assume Ben as about 25 when he married Elizabeth. The rest is pretty easy to figure out from there._

_The list of people I owe thanks to is almost as long as the story itself. Special thanks to Thomas T. Taber, Administrator of the Railroad Historical Resource Center in Pennsylvania, who, in answer to my question of how long it would take to get from St. Louis to Boston by train in 1851, told me that the only way to get there was to combine train and steamship travel and worked out two potential routes for me, then sent me copies of actual period timetables. They were more than helpful. Many thanks also to Gwynne Logan, my tireless editor, not only for her keen editing work, but for her inspiration regarding Adam's "adult toys" - I now cannot imagine the story without them; to Vickie Batzka, who asked to see what some of Adam's and Abel's old correspondence looked like; to Liz Sisson, for her faithful research into Pennsylvania coal country; to Jenny Guttridge for lending me her silver and ivory teething ring, introduced in "Peace on the Ponderosa"; to Debby Warren, for her encouraging beta work; and to the group who read along and kept asking "How's "Odyssey" coming?" You never have to ask again. L.B. _

**ODYSSEY**

_By Lissa Brown_

_(October 2002)_

ILLINOIS

_Blown by the Winds_

"Beautiful country, isn't it?"

Startled out of his thoughts, the man tore his eyes from the stretch of water and turned his head to take in the woman in the deck seat next to him.

A pleasant faced woman in her forties smiled back at him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you. But I've never been this far east before and my husband spends all his time in the club room with his nasty cigars, so I'm growing quite forward." She offered her hand. "Mrs. Lyle Chambers. It is beautiful, isn't it?"

The man accepted the proffered hand. "Ben Cartwright. Yes. It is."

"Travelling on business, Mr. Cartwright?"

"Personal business."

"How far are you going?" She saw his expression and flushed. "Pardon me. I am disturbing you."

A little wearily, Mr. Cartwright turned himself to face her and summoned his manners. "Not at all. I'm going to Boston. And yourself?"

"That _is_ a long way. I'm going to Albany, and heaven knows that's far enough. Lyle has family there he hasn't seen in years."

"Yes." Ben nodded. "Me too."

"Then you've passed through Illinois before?"

He nodded again, his expression faintly distracted. "Over fifteen years ago now."

"My, that's a long time not to see family!"

He shook his head. "My son – " he paused "is in school in Boston. Harvard," he added, with a touch of pride.

"My! Harvard! Your son must be very bright!"

"Very." He smiled faintly. "Very bright."

"Still, it must be hard to have him so far away."

Ben nodded silently.

"Is he your only son?"

"No. I have three. Two younger boys at home in Utah Territory."

"Utah! You've traveled a long way already."

Ben nodded again. "It'll be faster now. On the steamboat. And the train."

"Oh, yes, my husband says trains are a wonder. Still, it's a long time to be away from your other boys."

"Yes." Ben shifted uneasily, his mind automatically replaying the same arguments it had been playing since he received the message. "Joseph's only nine and Hoss fifteen – but they're in good hands."

Mrs. Chambers didn't think it was her he was trying to convince. "Is your other boy graduating?"

Ben shook his head, his eyes drifting restlessly about the deck. "Not – not right now." He looked at her directly for the first time as though trying to make up his mind about something, then said slowly, painfully, "He – he's ill. His grandfather sent word to me – the doctor thought – if at all possible – that I ought to come."

Mrs. Chambers was silent. They both knew what a doctor asking a man to make such a trip meant. They both also knew that the sheer length of the trip made arrival for final arrangements far more likely than arrival for final good byes. She cleared her throat delicately. "Do you know what he has?"

He frowned, his eyes back at the water, staring out from under lowered brows. "Some kind of fever. He's always been a little prone to them – gets it from his mother, I suppose. Of course, he's scared me before for nothing." He tried to smile.

She tried to make herself smile back. "Is his mother with the other boys?"

"His mother is dead."

She blanched. "I'm sorry."

Her distress brought out his chivalrous side and he made a quick, dismissive gesture. "A long time ago. More than twenty years. That's what I was thinking about. Over twenty years ago I made this trip in the other direction to fulfill a dream and escape my memories of Liz. After all these years I'm going back for the first time to – " he broke off abruptly, frowning hard at the water.

Mrs. Chambers hesitated, then threw propriety to the winds and touched his knee lightly. "Children are so resilient, Mr. Cartwright. And we never really know what providence has in store for us."

Ben smiled suddenly, a real smile. "That's true, isn't it, Mrs. Chambers? I certainly never could have guessed half of what it had in store for me."

And just as well, too. Would he have ever had the courage to love Liz if he'd known he'd lose her so soon? To create Adam if he'd known he'd be raising him alone? And now perhaps he'd lose him, too. Possibly he'd lost him already. Madness, probably, to let him go so far away, knowing how tenuous, how fragile life is. But Adam had wanted it so badly…school – the east – how could he have denied him? Like denying his own birthright. And then there was Abel. Abel hadn't seen his only grandchild since babyhood, though he maintained an active correspondence with both Ben and Adam.

Ben had often imagined the moment Abel would finally see Adam – see Elizabeth's eyes smiling at him out of her son's face, notice the echo of her smile. He knew how much it would mean to Abel because he knew how much it meant to him, himself. And Abel had been so generous – so reassuring, even as he'd carried away the last breathing remainder of his only daughter – had told him not to brood, to move on with his life. Surely it had only been right to give grandfather and grandson this time together. Impossible to know that the time would be so short. That was always impossible to know. Who had reason to know that better than he did? His gaze drifted automatically back to the broad stretch of water before him.

_Ash Hollow. 1836._ It had seemed to him, later, an ironic name - a symbol of his own hollowness - of dreams turned suddenly and irrevocably to ash. Dreams that had begun so auspiciously - not far from here in Illinois, that green land of many rivers that would always symbolize Inger to him, with its gentle, rolling landscapes and rich, warm soils. A good place to settle - to raise a family. But he had had his heart set on the west - the great, open country of the legends, where he could raise "tall sons among tall trees", as Liz had said. He had made a promise to her - to Abel - to continue on, to follow his dream. First Liz, then Inger had been so much a part of that dream - and so briefly, both.

He had left this green land with a strong sense of new beginnings - a fresh start - their small wagon full of happy dreams. Now, he had thought, now - after so long - to leave the pain of the past behind - the terrible grief that had ravaged him and haunted his days. Adam's days, too, he had realized with regret. Too much sorrow for a little boy.

Adam had run alongside the wagon as though he felt it too - a fresh new start. It made his heart full just to remember. _A new land. A mother for his boy. A wife and partner and friend…God was hard sometimes, but in the end, he was merciful and good. The Lord taketh away, but the Lord also giveth._

Perhaps if they had stayed here in Illinois, it would have been different - Inger would have lived, they would have raised Adam and Hoss happily along the banks of the Ohio. He sighed. But of course, that would have meant no Marie - no Joseph. Life was a difficult thing, like a terrible game of barter - lose one precious thing, gain another. How to choose? Just as well it wasn't possible to know the choices you were making at the time. You would be paralyzed to immobility by the very prospect.

It had been a terribly slow pace to the promised land - a 2,000 mile walk. He wondered how much Adam remembered of walking across a continent. He would have to ask him, if…_when_. When he saw him. He would ask him what he remembered about the journey. He knew he remembered what came later.

The boat twisted gracefully to accommodate yet another curve. Took skill to steer this river, the old sailor in him thought absently. Pretty, though. Hard to remember why it had seemed so important to leave this pretty land for another. But the dream had burned in him like a fever then. There had been no fighting it. And Inger had seemed to want it too - maybe just because he did, though. She had been like that. Cherishing her loved ones' dreams - wanting their happiness - almost more than her own. Her face was so clear to him here, as it hadn't been for fifteen years. The soft lilt of her voice…he sighed.

"Inger."

"I beg your pardon?"

He hadn't realized he had spoken aloud. "Oh - just…remembering." He gave Mrs. Chambers a conciliatory smile, meant to show that this topic was closed, so he was surprised to hear himself saying, "My second wife. We met and married not far from here. More than fifteen years ago now. Doesn't look all that different."

"You married again, then. After your first wife died."

He nodded, his mind replaying the simple civil ceremony, Inger's fresh face alight with happiness. "Oh, yes. Inger was mother to my second boy - Hoss."

"The one who is fifteen."

He smiled. "You're a good listener."

"I'm fond of children." She gave him a whimsical smile. "Like most people who have none of their own, I suppose. Was your second boy born here?"

"No. In a wagon right on the Oregon Trail. I suppose you could say Hoss is a true pioneer."

The light glittered on the river's surface. Somewhere it barely registered that the boatswain was calling the river depth. He should bring Hoss here sometime - when he was older, of course. See where his father and mother had courted. He shifted uncomfortably as he remembered saying good bye to Hoss.

He had tried to make light of it. Talked of it as a visit to Adam, of the fun they'd have with Hop Sing and Shaughnessy while he was away. Joseph, of course, had been adamant in his insistence on accompanying him - had enjoyed a full-blown tantrum, in fact. Hoss had been strangely quiet. He had waited until Joe was in bed before asking, "What's wrong with Adam, Pa?"

Ben had felt his heart sink within him. "What's wrong? What's wrong is he's been gone nearly two years and I'd like to see him! Is that all right with you?"

Hoss had just looked at him. "So yer goin' all that way just afore round up?"

Ben was silent a moment. "Well, it's not a trip you can make during the winter, Hoss…" he tried tentatively.

Hoss continued to stare at him. He could look uncomfortably like his mother sometimes. "Then I wanna go too," he said at last.

Ben had sighed, a beaten sigh, and lowered himself slowly into his chair. "I need you here, Hoss," he said at last. He wasn't placating - it was true.

"Ain't nothing special fer me ta do here."

He sighed again. "There's Joseph. Hoss, he needs you. I can't leave him here without any of us for all that time."

"Then we should all go. Somethin's wrong with Adam, Pa, whether you wanna say it er not. I wanna go."

"I know, son…" he rubbed his hands helplessly over his face. "It's a very expensive journey, though - very difficult and long - I need to make all due speed - even if you could manage, a boy Joseph's age…" he trailed off. Why were the choices always so terrible? Why was it his fate that his heart should always be rent? Choose this one, leave that one? He saw Hoss's chin quiver suspiciously despite his fifteen-year-old dignity and held his gaze earnestly. "Hoss. Do you remember when you were a little boy - a few years younger than Joseph - I had to go away to New Orleans for a while? Remember? I returned with your new mother…"

Hoss looked at him guardedly. "Uh-huh."

"Adam was probably old enough to travel with me. Can you imagine how difficult it would have been for you if we had both gone? He stayed to be with you.

I need you to do that for Joseph now, Hoss. I need you to be with him while I go to be with Adam. Do you think you can do that for me? For me and Joe? For Adam?" Hoss's tears spilled over. He looked so lost and hopeless - just as Adam had, ten years past. It tore at Ben's heart anew. "Thank you, son," he said quietly. "I appreciate it. I'll feel much better knowing you're here looking after things."

Hoss nodded numbly. He swallowed his tears. "Pa - what if Adam - "

"Adam will be fine." It came out more sharply than he had intended. "Everything - will be fine."

But he was a fool. Because he knew nothing of the kind.

He had still believed in happy endings before Ash Hollow, despite Liz, despite everything. Inger had renewed his faith - reset the world's order for him, giving it back a kind of sanity. Finding her had seemed to mean that things balanced in the end, that joy could be found even after the most horrible of losses. Losing Inger so suddenly and senselessly had ended that for him - broken the back of his faith in mercy and fairness. There was no justice, no evening of rights and wrongs - every throw of the dice was random. Some men were given everything - lost nothing. Some men knew nothing but loss. No easy answers. No guarantees. The Lord taketh. And taketh. And taketh.

He could not forget kneeling at Inger's grave in that hollow that day - so far away from where he'd been, so far away from where he was going. Another piece of his heart buried in some distant spot, deprived of even the comfort of visits. His mind flashed to Adam, dead or dying and fated, perhaps, to be buried almost a continent away from their home as well, and he lurched unsteadily to his feet.

_No._ _Not again. Please._

He sensed, distantly, Mrs. Chambers steadying hand on his arm, her soothing murmurs in his ear, but somehow they were multiple - the murmurs of a group of mourners, quietly repeating after the minister as he gazed at the simple prairie cross with damp and stricken eyes.

Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Hoss's wail rising over the murmurs, like keening, the combined rustle as they began to move away - to care for his children for him, to give him some last time alone with her.

_Alone_.

He remembered laughing inwardly even as he thought it. There would be plenty of time alone now - nothing but time alone, now and forever. He knelt there for what seemed like an eternity, long after the voices had faded away, long after the cold dampness of the ground had soaked into the knees of his trousers and the cold dampness of his solitude into his bones. Only because he realized he could not, in all practicality, stay there forever - that he was, after all, the father of two motherless boys now, did he finally force himself painfully to his feet and turn to go. And stopped in surprise.

He was not alone.

One mourner had stayed, silently shadowing him and patiently waiting for him to finish, with his flat-brimmed hat respectfully clasped in his hands. He didn't say anything, but looked up at him expectantly from Elizabeth's eyes.

_Not so alone after all. _

He had reached down to stroke the dark head, at a loss for words. His stalwart companion through this whole journey of sorrows. How much worse would it have been to have traveled this road truly alone? He let his hand drop to the small shoulder and patted lightly.

"Come on, son," he had managed at last. "Let's go find your brother."

"…all right? Mr. Cartwright?"

He dragged himself back across a gulf of fifteen years and blinked at the anxious face of Mrs. Chambers, so close to his own. He gave an embarrassed laugh. Of course he wasn't all right - how could he be? But that was not an answer for this kind woman. What must she be thinking? Surely anyone could provide her with better company than himself. He patted the concerned hand resting on his arm. "I'll be fine, Mrs. Chambers. My - past and future seem to be - at odds this evening. Please forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive." Good breeding demanded that she release his arm but she did not, and somehow it seemed appropriate to him.

He smiled apologetically. "I'm afraid I'm poor company."

She raised her brows archly, but her eyes were compassionate. "Now, the bell for tea was just rung and I was going to invite you to join me and meet my husband. I hope you aren't going to leave me unescorted. I'd be quite mortified."

He gazed at her, bemused. "Mrs. Chambers - "

She waved his protests aside. "The price of tea is included in your passage so you might as well eat it." She squeezed his arm meaningfully. "It will help pass the time."

His eyes softened and he studied her, suddenly gleaning something.

"Very well," he said after a moment. "On one condition. That later we put my troubles aside for a moment and talk about you."

_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: It isn't strictly necessary to watch "Elizabeth, My Love" to follow the Abel sections of this story, but it helps. Here's a little Bonanza trivia: I'm pretty sure Adam was the only Cartwright who was ever ill on the show; that is, stricken by an illness, rather than ill as a result of an injury. And he was twice - both in "Elizabeth, My Love" and "Inger, My Love"._

BOSTON

He smoothed the telegram once more with a hand stiff and a little gnarled now from the years of salt spray, and reread the date.

Three days ago. From St. Louis. At the very fastest, he would reach here in another twelve. If all went well.

So far nothing seemed to be going well.

He gazed sightlessly at the steady shimmer of rain against the window. A fine caretaker he had turned out to be. He wouldn't blame Ben a bit if he packed Adam right up and bundled him back to the Ponderosa. Once he was well, of course. Always assuming…but those thoughts helped nothing.

He turned away from the window and rested his eyes again on the still figure in the bed nearby. The fever was as high as ever, but he no longer thrashed about and muttered to himself. Too weak, the doctor said. How long could a man - even a young and strong one - remain in such a fever? The doctor had said eight weeks wasn't unusual in these cases. Longer, with complications. It had been almost five already.

He dropped himself heavily into the rocker by the bed and glanced about the room.

He should have moved Adam. What on earth had possessed him to put him in here? Even giving up his own room to him would have made more sense. At the time it had seemed like a good thing, a good place for a boy to get acquainted with the mother he had never known, but now, watching him struggle for his life in the same bed where his mother had breathed her last was almost unbearable - terrifyingly reminiscent. What would it do to Benjamin to see it?

How he wished he had thought of it sooner. Now, of course, Adam was too weak to be moved. He reached out and took hold of the lax hand. It felt hot and dry in his own. Fleshless. And he'd thought him thin when he'd arrived.

He remembered waiting to meet him down at the wharf, nervous as moon calf at his first dance. He remembered the long figure, taller than himself or Benjamin but still boyishly thin - a jumble of long arms and legs, silhouetted against the horizon.

In that poor light there had been nothing familiar about him - just another gangly boy caught on the bridge between youth and manhood. It wasn't until Adam had caught his eye and given him a tentative smile then dropped his eyes in a brief spate of shyness that his heart had nearly bounded out of his chest.

_Good Lord._

Benjamin had tried to tell him, but nothing - nothing could have prepared him for this.

The handshake he offered was firm and strong - just like his father's - and for a moment Abel had been almost swept away in a tidal wave of memories. He had felt a quick rush of tears and to cover it had boomed out, "Well, laddie, look at you! Nothing but skin and bones! Doesn't that father of yours ever feed you?"

There had been only the slightest shift in the dark eyes but it had taught him something that he would never forget again - no criticism of his father would be tolerated, even in jest.

Ah, well - and that was a good thing. A boy should be loyal to his father. But it had also underlined the fact that, even though a continent no longer lay between them, even after fourteen years of faithful correspondence, they were virtual strangers. Much as he may resemble her, this was not the daughter he had known. This was the grandson that he really didn't know at all.

The first weeks had been excruciating in their awkwardness - Adam had been faultlessly pleasant and endlessly polite - oppressively so - careful not to be in his way, keeping his belongings neat and contained. He was always respectful of his grandfather's wishes, solicitous of his comfort.

Abel thought it would drive him mad.

How could this boy have his daughter's face and yet none of her sass - her spirit? Oh, he knew he wasn't Elizabeth's child alone, but even Ben had never been this serious - this - this - damned proper!

He was being unfair and churlish - he knew he was - but it was torture to have the beloved image transformed and alive before his eyes and yet so far away and unfamiliar. He pushed sometimes - he needled - and sometimes he saw a flash of something that he thought might actually be temper, but it was gone almost as soon as it appeared and he was sure it had just been wishful thinking. He put it down to Adam's restlessness, for he haunted the small house like a ghost, swinging his arms as though hunting some kind of physical release, looking for something.

_His brothers, most likely_.

And it would be hard for a boy accustomed to physical labor to suddenly find himself confined to the close quarters of the city. And so he went for walks - long walks, God only knew where. Sometimes Abel went with him, matching his long stride. It was on one of these that he had first seen a different side of his grandson.

They were walking about the Common. Abel was talking in loud, boisterous tones because that's what he did when he was nervous and Adam was answering in those brief and maddeningly polite pleasantries that made Abel long to shake him. Because he was used to carrying the bulk of the conversation it had taken him a minute to notice when Adam was no longer with him. He had slammed to a halt in surprise.

_Well, this was a new wrinkle. This might almost be considered…rude. _

He turned to squint back through the crowds, spotting his grandson's tall dark head easily above the throngs that jammed the sidewalk. He retraced his steps and stood behind him, about to speak, then paused instead to follow his gaze to the plate glass window before them.

A bookstore. What the devil was so entrancing about that? Well, from the lad's rapt expression, something, evidently. His heart softened. Elizabeth had been fond of books - was always at Benjamin to read aloud to her. He studied his grandson's profile, then cleared his throat.

Adam actually jumped, then flushed.

Abel chuckled. "We could go inside," he suggested gently.

Adam looked at the sidewalk, then at his grandfather.

Abel chuckled again. So it wasn't impossible to ruffle his composure, then.

"No, that's all right."

"Oh, come along. It's cold out here anyway. Let an old man warm up." That worked as well as he thought it might and he led the way into the store.

Adam forgot him almost immediately, wandering from shelf to shelf, fingering the book bindings, pulling them out to look at them and flip through the pages, studying the color plates inside.

Abel leaned against the counter, his eyes following him. _Not a statue after all, are you, boy?_ he thought, folding his arms over his chest and watching the intent, absorbed expression settle and deepen on his grandson's face. He wasn't sure how long he stood and watched - until Adam seemed to remember where he was, carefully closing the large book he was perusing and easing it back on the shelf.

He looked embarrassed. "Sorry - I - didn't mean to take so long. Are you warm now?"

Abel pushed himself away from the counter, eyeing him with raised brows. "Aren't you going to choose one?"

Adam turned his eyes resolutely away from the shelves. "I'll have my college reading list in a few days - I'd better wait for that."

Abel blustered. "Nonsense, boy! Those books are for learning! I meant one for pleasure!"

Adam carefully dragged his gloves back on. "Maybe another time."

Abel squinted at him.

_Of course. Money_.

Must have cost Benjamin a packet to send him and keep him here - couldn't be much left over for fripperies. "The devil!" he burst out brusquely. "Choose one you like! I'll get it for you - a welcome to Boston gift."

There was only the slightest pause in the drawing on of the gloves. "Thank you," he repeated, with one of his most civil smiles. "But I think I should wait for my reading list."

Abel wanted to kick him and then himself. Damn, he should have known better. Trust the son of Benjamin Cartwright to be stiff-necked with unreasonable pride! Why, the look on his face had reminded him exactly of - he choked a little.

_**Oh**__._

Well, he supposed he could have gotten it from both sides of the family. There were those who felt that he had a bit more than his share of pride as well. What was it Benjamin had called him that time they had fought over the Chandlers Shop? He snorted at the memory. Well, this was different. A grandfather should be able to give a gift to his only grandson without him stiffening up all over the place. Damn, he'd buy him the whole blasted book shop without blinking and count it cheap if he could only keep him looking the way he had a few minutes ago. He brooded about it all the way home, a cold and silent walk.

He was still brooding about it when they arrived, words of remonstrance hovering on the tip of his tongue. He was a direct man, not given to subtleties, and couldn't help feeling that a good, rip-roaring fight would do them a world of good - well, himself, anyway.

Adam opened the door and let him enter first - another of those damned courtesies. There was a stack of letters on the tray by the door and Abel flipped through them briskly. At least two addressed in Benjamin's strong, decisive hand - one for him and one for Adam - another one for Adam labeled in a boyish scrawl. He plucked Adam's free and held them out to him, caught the look on his face from the corner of one eye.

Eh, damn, he cursed himself. As bad as that, was it? And what kind of a fool was he not to think the lad might be awash in homesickness? Too old and stupid to be allowed the stewardship of a young man, he was - too callused of heart and hard-shelled from years of fighting the sea and almost everything else in his path. Of course the boy was lonely. What kind of company was an old man - a stranger - to someone who was used to the companionship of two young brothers and a father? And what could he do about it? There had to be some way to ease his path here - maybe rent him a horse in the park on weekends - or there were other pleasures the city had to offer that he might enjoy - the Opera, the theatre, the museums.

He felt a twinge of conscience. Of course, he had promised Ben not to spoil him. Ben had been very emphatic about that - had repeated it in more than one letter as they were trying to agree on arrangements. _Don't spoil him, Captain, I know you…he'll have to make his own path one way or another after this is over, so you won't be doing him any favors…promise, me_…

And he'd promised - a little insulted, even, that Benjamin thought he could be so lily-livered - such a - a - woman. Well, maybe he was, then, after all, just a bit - but he was ready to don a skirt if it would get a smile out of the lad. A real smile - not one of those mannerly reflexes of the lips he was given to.

He continued to brood about it and worry it in his brain as the days passed. Perhaps the start of school would fix things - he'd be busy enough then and there would be young people to become acquainted with. He watched him anxiously, pretending to be jovial.

I'm as bad as he is, he thought. He's pretending not to be homesick, I'm pretending not to be worried. There's a pair of us.

He was thinking about it hard when he returned home unexpectedly early from the Chandlers Shop one day. He had started to push his way into the house when he heard a peculiar sound and stopped to listen.

_Whistling._

He worried his lower lip, drinking in the sweet, melodic treble notes. Unable to resist, he cracked the door an inch more and peeked through.

Yes, it was Adam, with that same intent, absorbed expression he'd had in the bookshop, studying drawings on some large pieces of paper spread out all over the table and whistling contentedly to himself.

Abel paused, suddenly feeling foolish. What was he doing, spying on the lad in his own home? Maybe he should just sneak away and pretend to arrive again. But he knew that when he did the papers would be instantly swept away and upstairs, out of sight. And the boy seemed happy - such a rare thing these days. He hated to drive him back to the cautious courtesy that characterized him in his grandfather's presence.

He eased himself carefully away from the door and back to the stoop. Let the youngster have the house to himself for a time - he needed a walk anyway.

He walked for a long time and as he did he was thinking. He couldn't transport Benjamin or the two younger boys here - he couldn't fetch the Sierra Nevadas. Sending him home was not an option - winter was on the way, and besides, he was almost certain he'd refuse to go. He had started this course and, barring unforeseen circumstances, he was committed to it. But there must be something he could do - something.

_Eh, Elizabeth - I don't know what to do. Yer mother took care of these things when you were a girl and I was away at sea. Perhaps it's just a matter of time, but I can't bear to see him so unhappy. If there's any way - anything I can do to help make yer laddie more comfortable here, then show it to me_.

He stopped with a sigh. Almost dinner time. Time to get back. He made a move to turn, then stopped, gaze narrowing.

Right above eye level swung a store placard: _**Conway's Music - fine instruments, repairs and sheet music since 1812**_.

He frowned, remembering the whistle, and remembering something else.

_Elizabeth, my girl, you always were one with a quick and cheeky answer. _

The bell jangled as he made his way inside.

The interior smelled of wood polish and rosin and he sniffed deeply, looking about. Possibly this came under Benjamin's heading of "spoiling"…eh, who was he to tell him how to handle his own grandson? Young upstart. He wasn't here, was he?

The store clerk approached him. "Can I help you, sir?"

He cleared his throat. "I need one of those - those guitars. You carry those?"

"Certainly, sir. Any special kind you'd like to see?"

"Devil if I know - a good one. One with good sound." Devil take Benjamin, anyway. He knew what he was doing.

"Certainly, sir. If you'll just step over here…"

He obediently followed the clerk to a collection of instruments hanging along one wall. All looked the same to him.

"Now, this is a nice one…"

Ben's dictums echoed in his brain and he frowned to drown them out.

Damn it, he wasn't spoiling him, he was spoiling himself. Surely he had a right to do that. What was the point of having his grandson come all this way after all this time and then not even get to hear him play and sing? Ben had said he was good - he would like to hear for himself.

He studied the instrument the clerk handed him. A pretty thing. He could picture Adam with it. He remembered the experience in the bookshop and hesitated.

Damn. What if his confounded pride got in the way again?

"I need a nice one, but not too expensive," he added hastily. "Good, but not showy." He glared at the clerk, daring him to think him cheap. It's not me, he thought at him. It's that blasted stubborn, hard-headed boy of mine.

But the clerk merely nodded and reached for another instrument. "This is a good one. Very rich sound, but reasonably priced. Would you like to hear it?"

Abel shook his head. "If you say it's good I'm sure it is - they'd all sound the same to me. I'll take that one. I'd like it sent round - today, if you're able."

"Our boy is out doing some deliveries now, but I'll have him take it round as soon as he gets back. Would you like to write down the address?"

Abel had written it down hastily under Adam's name, his heart hammering in his chest. He hadn't been this self-conscious about a purchase since he'd bought his Meg her engagement ring. He fled the shop as though he'd been caught committing a crime.

All the way home he'd felt both excited and uneasy at the same time. In his mind he could see that sassy daughter of his laughing at him. "This was your idea, you know," he told her sternly. "Just in case Benjamin ever finds out." He smiled to himself. Not that it would worry her. Elizabeth had always known her way around Benjamin. He wondered if Adam did.

He was late for supper and jumpy and nervous throughout the meal, speaking volubly to cover it. He saw Adam glance curiously at him from time to time. Probably thought he had run mad. Well, it was better than all that politeness anyway.

The door knocker sounded in the middle of the meal and Adam got up to answer it, shooting him one more inquisitive look as he went by.

Abel ducked his head guiltily, listening intently to the voices at the door. Adam was protesting, then arguing; the delivery boy repeating his answer with rote inflexibility. He held his breath as the voices got louder, then heard the brisk click of the door closing. Then silence. He waited, trying not to peek and then peeking anyway.

Adam stood in the entryway between the front door and the main room with the cloth-wrapped instrument in his hands, held gingerly in front of him as though he thought it might explode at any minute. His face was dark as a thundercloud, as though he might explode at any minute as well.

Abel raised his brows. _Oh, yes - that was definitely temper. Well, well, well._

"The delivery boy," Adam began in carefully measured tones, "says this belongs to me."

_Aye, big temper, too. Definite storm lurking beneath all that calm._

"Does he, now?" boomed Abel breezily. He pretended to keep his eyes on his plate, but looking through his lashes he saw Adam narrow his gaze at him.

"Mm hm." Adam leaned his shoulder into the entryway doorframe, staring at him, eyes smoldering_. _

_Aye, this was better now. Definitely a fight brewing. _

"Thing is, I don't remember ordering it. "

Abel nodded, slicing briskly at his ham. "That's because you didn't, I expect. I did." Couple of young upstarts, him and Benjamin both. Teach them to think they could tell him how to run his household.

"Grandfather - " Adam took a deep breath, looked at the guitar, looked back at him. "I - I appreciate the thought, but I am not supposed to - "

Abel beetled his brows at him. "Supposed to what?" He was amused to see Adam flush.

"I'm - supposed to - do this on my own. It's important."

Abel nodded, gesturing with his fork. "And that there guitar, it keeps you from doing that somehow, does it?"

Adam glanced down at the wrapped guitar in his hands, the flush spreading to his ears. "Well, no, not - That's not the point and you know it. Pa - "

"Eh, yes, yer father. It was all right fer me ta send you gifts now and now when you were on the Ponderosa and for some reason it's a problem now that you're here. Well, as it happens that's not a gift for you, it's a gift for me - I don't suppose even yer father could object to that? He told me you play and I'd a fancy to hear it. Seems to me the least you could do for an old man seeing as you're living under my roof." Oh, yes - he had him now - he could see it, see the battle in his face! The first time he'd seen him nonplused. Terrible how much he was enjoying this.

Adam looked again at the guitar. Abel noted how gently he held it, even in his confusion and irritation. "Well, of course it's not that I wouldn't be happy to…I'll do anything you like, Grandfather, but - " he trailed off.

"But what?" Abel pressed his advantage.

Adam swallowed. He had no idea.

Abel grinned. "Then why don't you unwrap the bloody thing and we'll see how it sounds?"

Adam hesitated. He wasn't really ready to give in, but he couldn't quite remember what he was holding out for. He looked again at the package in his hands, then went over and, resting it on the nearest chair, proceeded to carefully unwrap it, a troubled frown creasing his brow.

Abel watched the frown soften and gradually smooth out as the mellow glow of the instrument's wood appeared. He watched him pluck delicately at a string and saw a smile lift one corner of his mouth. "So - are you going to play something or not?"

"Needs tuning." Adam pulled away the rest of the wrapping and plucked at another string, listening.

"So tune it, lad! But come finish your dinner first."

Adam hesitated, looking at the discarded wrappings.

Abel saw the look. "Eh, leave 'em for now! Criminy, aren't you ever untidy?"

"No," answered Adam bluntly. "Not really."

He gave his grandfather a shrewd look and Abel found himself flushing this time. He cleared his throat noisily. "Come, come, lad - food'll be cold as a polar bear's nose in another minute."

0

So after dinner Adam had tuned the guitar and played for his grandfather - that evening and nearly every evening that followed.

After that, things seemed to change. Not big things, but small ones. Not all at once, but gradually.

Instead of being marshaled efficiently back upstairs, textbooks were found splayed open here and there in the main room. The occasional roll of drafting paper was left tucked near the dining table. The front door closed now and now with an indecorous slam and school friends started to find their way home with Adam.

Looking at Adam on the opposite side of the fireplace one evening Abel noticed that even his posture had changed - instead of the rigid, both feet on the floor stance of early days, he sat slumped comfortably with one leg thrown over the arm of the chair. Abel felt a warm glow of smug pleasure that his strategy had worked. Eh, maybe it would have happened eventually anyway - but he was willing to take the credit. He looked up from stuffing his pipe.

"So, lad - " he said jovially. "Are you going to play something for me tonight?"

Adam nodded and turned a page without lifting his eyes from his book. "Sure."

"Maybe you could play that _Annie Laurie_. Or _Barbara Allen_. Though that one gets me all choked up."

"Whatever you say, Grandfather."

Abel couldn't resist rubbing it in a little. "So buying that guitar seems to have been a good idea of mine after all. Don't you think?"

"Yes, sir," Adam agreed politely, turning another page. And then, more quietly, but loudly enough to be sure he was heard, "Conniving old seadog."

Abel's brows twitched together and he squinted one incredulous eye at him. "Laddie-mine," he said cautiously after a moment, uncertain he had heard correctly. "Did you just - sass me?"

"Me, sir?" Adam's voice was innocent and faintly shocked, one eyebrow rising quizzically, though his eyes stayed fixed on his book.

Abel stared hard at him, then saw the telltale smirk sink into the corner of Adam's mouth. A laugh rumbled deep in his chest. "You watch yerself, lad," he admonished sternly. "I'm not so old yet that I can't take you."

Adam nodded mildly. "You could try. Sir," he agreed sweetly.

Abel settled back in his chair and puffed his pipe, his heart light with merriment. "I've been thinkin'…" he continued pensively, studying the embers glowing red in the pipe bowl, "of buying a piano. For myself, of course."

Adam's head shot up, eyes wide with alarm, then he caught the teasing expression and his face relaxed into a mock-glare. "Well, that would be nice," he agreed dryly. "Then you could play for me for a change."

Abel grinned evilly at him and bit his pipe stem.

_Eh, Elizabeth, girl - I knew you had to be in there somewhere. _

Not that it mattered now. By now he had ceased to love Adam as Elizabeth's child and had come to love him as himself.

Abel closed his eyes in pain at the memories and moved his hand so it rested instead on the pale, broad forehead, radiating heat like a boiling kettle.

"Eh, lad," he said softly. "This is one way I'd rather you didn't resemble your mother. You hang on, now. Come back to me."

_TBC_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Okay, I guess references to Elizabeth, My Love and Inger, My Love appear throughout, so it is helpful if you've watched them. But again, not necessary._

INDIANA

_Odysseus and the Ghosts_

Ben stared over the rail into the bottomless blackness of the water. He had no idea what had woken him, but sleep had been restless lately anyway: elusive. Irritating, in a way, since on these long voyages it was sometimes the only way to pass the time. But this was better than the stagecoach had been. Smoother. Faster. And being on the water still held a deep sense of connection for him - of peace. He smiled a little into the darkness. Once a sailor…

There was no one else about except for the crew, who would no doubt be disconcerted to find a wayward passenger wandering the boat at this hour, so he kept quiet and out of the way. The only sound was the slap of the water against the side of the boat - the only light the pilothouse, a soft beacon of warmth and brightness. He knew what it would be like in there on a night like this - hot coffee and tall stories shared - the distinctly masculine companionship of those who made the water their mistress. He had thought himself one of them, once - had never imagined replacing that love of a boat and the water with that of a flesh and blood woman. Then he had met Liz and all of that had changed: like following one of the dozens of different eddies that branched off of the river, his life had taken a different path.

He looked again at the pilothouse and for a moment considered joining them, then changed his mind. _No._ All that was behind him now. He no longer belonged there. In truth, maybe he never had, for the call of the land had always been strong for him, too - stronger, possibly, than the voice of the sea. Maybe Elizabeth had just helped him to hear it more clearly.

He gazed into the inky depths below him. The loss of his first love would always be a tender spot - one that had hurt so deeply and for so long that he still approached it a little warily, expecting that crippling twist of anguish that had accompanied it so reliably for so many years.

It had dominated his days endlessly - he suspected, looking back, that it had made him more impatient, quicker to anger, than he had wanted to be. It was a bit of a blur now, but it had always troubled him some. He had often wanted to ask Adam about it - to apologize, maybe - but he knew Adam would have none of it, would tell him it was fine, that he was fine. He shook his head. A bad habit he had never been able to break him of. Things hadn't always been fine - he knew that all too well. But Adam had a protective streak where his father was concerned - would defend him from all comers, including himself.

Well, they had had a long partnership together - longer, oddly, than he had shared with any of his wives. No wonder the last couple of years without him had seemed so odd - so out of kilter. Still found himself looking around for him some days - expecting to see him coming down the stairs, sitting at the big desk in the Great Room, riding in after a long day. He wondered if Adam felt the same at all - their partnership had, after all, encompassed his whole life. His letters never hinted at it if he did, but then, Adam was stubborn. He'd fought so hard for this chance - he would never admit to any doubt now or distress his father with his troubles when he was so far away and unable to help. He sighed a little. And he was young - adaptable. Chances were he rarely even thought about his old father among the excitement of Boston and Harvard. He smiled at the thought. So much for him to love there. He would give a lot for a glimpse of Adam enjoying Boston.

He leaned his elbows on the ship's rail and rested his head in his hands. And maybe he would get that. Maybe. Adam was a strong boy, not just in body, but in mind and spirit, too. He wouldn't give into this any more easily than he had ever given into anything else that threatened to slow him down. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. Of course, Elizabeth had been strong, too. Of spirit, anyway. But there were things that even the strongest spirit, the most stubborn will, couldn't overcome.

"Y'all right there, sir?"

Ben started and glanced up at the shadowed face of the watchman peering curiously at him. He cleared his throat, embarrassed. "Certainly. Just couldn't sleep. The river is beautiful at night."

The watchman pursed his lips and frowned speculatively out into the stygian gloom where river and sky ran together as one and shrugged. "Yes, sir," he agreed doubtfully.

"You - wouldn't happen to know our whereabouts, would you?"

The watchman's expression compressed into one of deep reproach. "I should hope I did," he said indignantly. "Just left Illy-noy behind us. Now you've Kentucky on your right and Indiany on your left. Should make Loo'ville late tomorra, barrin' any trouble."

Ben nodded. "And Cincinnati?"

"Next day, most likely, all things bein' equal."

Ben nodded again. In Cincinnati there would be a telegraph office and an update from Abel. He would be able to send one on his own progress as well. The watchman lingered a minute, as though expecting him to go inside, then shrugged again when he didn't and returned to work. Barely over a week to make his way from St. Louis to Cincinnati. It seemed impossible. It had certainly taken him longer to travel in the other direction all those years ago. Of course, that had been somewhat different - earning his keep as he went, and with a small boy in tow. Ben leaned back against the railing and this time sought out the stars.

Heavy cloud cover. Couldn't see much. Nothing to orient himself by. He squinted into the darkness, trying to imagine the bank on the other side.

_Indiana._ What did he remember about Indiana?

They had lingered for a while, he thought - one of their stops to earn money. It was before they had purchased the horse and wagon and everything had gone slowly - he had walked and an old, swaybacked mule had carried Adam and their few supplies. Well, for a while. Until Adam had gotten it into his head that if his father could walk, he could, too.

How old had he been - four, maybe? Ben had tried to reason with him - to explain that he was no real burden to the mule, but Adam had gotten that set look on his face that Ben was to grow so familiar with over the years and had slid off anyway.

Ben had wanted to scold - a habit of obedience was important to Adam's survival - but Adam had looked so pleased that he'd lost the heart to be strict about it. Well, what did it matter, anyway? He couldn't possibly be any slower than the mule was. In truth, it was pleasant to have him trotting along by his side, studying the flat green land before them with serious, curious eyes. Adam was happy. The mule was happy.

"Pa," he said after a while, "is that a town?"

"Yes, son. Probably we'll stop there for a while."

"How come it never gets any closer, no matter how much we walk?"

"It is closer, Adam. You just can't tell because it's further away than it actually seems. It will take a long time and a lot of walking before it seems closer."

Adam was quiet a moment, turning this over in his mind. "But we'll be there when we get past that group of trees?"

"No, son - that group of trees only looks like it's close to the town. It's actually very far away. You'll see when we get closer." Ben expected him to whine a little, prepared to put him back on the mule, but he looked more intrigued than anything.

"The last place," he said at last, "you didn't see things 'til they were close."

"I suppose you didn't."

"How come?"

"Well…" Ben thought about it. "Because it was hilly there - you couldn't see far ahead. Here it's flat and you can see for a long way - makes things seem closer and piled up on each other, but they're not. That's called _perspective_."

Adam eyes widened. "Say it again," he demanded.

Ben was amused. "What - perspective?"

Adam nodded, repeating it haltingly after him.

Ben chuckled to himself. Never knew what was going to take his fancy next. From his face you'd think he'd just been given a new toy. He sighed. Just as well, too, because it was the only one he'd be getting for a while. Funds were low. Hopefully there'd be work for him in this town. They had a while before the cold weather set in, anyway. He'd better put a little away for that. No telling where they'd be by that time and he'd heard the winters could be fierce out this way. He felt a small hand slip into his and glanced down, his worry easing into a faint smile. "What is it, son?"

"Pahspective," repeated Adam contentedly. "Pahspective."

Ben chuckled out loud this time. "That's very good. And very sound advice."

Even Ben had misjudged the distance, though, and the town had bounced tantalizingly ahead of them for hours like a desert mirage, never seeming to get any closer. A thin drizzle started to fall and he felt Adam's hand begin to drag in his and hefted him into his arms. No point in putting him back on the mule now - he was half-asleep and would probably just fall off. Besides, the mule looked almost as tired as Adam did. Too bad. He'd been hoping to trade it for a few dollars or supplies in town. The way it looked right now he'd be lucky if he didn't have to pay to have it shot and carted away.

The sun was getting low on the horizon when they finally reached the first buildings of the town and he scanned them for a general store. Tomorrow was Sunday by his calculations, and everything would be closed. As much as he would like to find a room to rest and put Adam to bed he would have to get his supplies now or go without until Monday morning. And by then he hoped to be working. He spotted what he was looking for and made his way up the steps, past the bags of feed and grain piled outside, out of the drizzle and into the cool, dimly lit interior.

The man behind the counter looked up from the scratchings he was doing on a piece of paper and smiled. "Can I help you, sir? Looking for a place to stay?'

"Well, yes, that's next - right now I need some things." Ben maneuvered Adam with practiced ease and pulled a short list from his pocket.

The man studied it and nodded. "Shouldn't be too hard. Looks like you've come a long way."

"Long enough," Ben answered evasively.

"Bet you're pretty glad to be out of the weather."

Ben shifted Adam a little closer for warmth and nodded.

"Mrs. Kittwell's place is nice enough and she likes young'uns. Plumb tuckered out, ain't he?"

Ben made a non-committal response. Probably the man was only being friendly, but he always felt faintly reproached by such remarks. He watched in silence as the storekeeper fetched items from the shelves.

"Lucky thing you came when you did - we'd be closed in another half hour. The missis has already gone home to fix supper. Let's see what we've got here, now…" he began to list figures in a painstaking row on the paper in front of him. "That's a nickel even…two cents…three more…ten for the feed…rope's another seven…fine quality, though - got those new…soap is three for six, but if you only want one, let's see, that's…"

Ben stopped listening. Adam murmured something in a sleepy voice and he reached up and smoothed the dark curls at his nape soothingly until he settled down again. He glanced down at him. His ankles hung below the hem of his trousers already. Seemed like he'd just replaced those, but Adam was growing fast. Something else he should see to while they were in town - new clothes.

"Ten - no - eleven…hm. Went wrong someplace. Let's see."

Ben shifted his weight, trying to seem patient. Hopefully this boardinghouse would do. Hopefully it was someplace he could feel comfortable leaving Adam during the day while he worked. Maybe he could afford a slate for Adam, too, and he could work on his letters while Ben was away. He'd like that, and it would keep him occupied. "Do you have any slates here? And chalk." It was probably extravagant - probably he shouldn't - but it was a good, constructive way to pass the time and would keep Adam out of trouble. Not that he was much trouble, really.

"Hm…yes, we do…penny for the chalk and three cents for the slate. Hmph. Have to start over. Let's see, that's five and two…three…then ten then seven…two for the soap…a penny and three…" he gave Ben an apologetic smile. "I ain't much of a head for figures, I'm afraid. Usually the missis does 'em, but like I say, she's gone for the day. Too bad. She's the brains of the operation." He laughed.

Ben smiled in return. "I know what you mean. My wife - " he stopped, his heart suddenly constricting painfully.

The storekeep didn't seem to notice. "They're a wonder, ain't they? Your wife waitin' outside?"

"No, she's - " Ben swallowed suddenly. "No."

The shopkeeper looked up in surprise, sudden understanding dawning. "Oh. Oh, now that's a shame. Let's see what we got here…forgot to carry somethin'…hm…there's five and two…" he droned back into his monotonous recitation of prices.

Adam turned his head on Ben's shoulder and muttered something. Ben reached up to stroke his hair again, making shushing noises. "We'll have a room soon, Adam."

The shopkeeper looked at him curiously. "What did he say?"

Ben laughed a little. "I don't know. Probably '_perspective'._ He's been practicing it all day. Once he gets a word in his head…"

"No." The shopkeeper shook his head, looking back down at his numbers. "No - that's not what he said. I'm pretty sure he said - thirty-three. And I think…" he carefully checked the column of numbers. "I think he's right."

Ben stared at him. "What are you saying?" He glanced at the heavy head on his shoulder and put his mouth close to the small ear. "Adam? Adam, did you want to tell me something?"

Adam sighed and muttered again.

Ben frowned. It did sound like thirty-three. "What, son? What's thirty-three?"

Adam opened one eye at him and yawned. "Five and two and three and ten and seven and two and one and three…"

Ben glanced over to watch the storekeeper check off each number in turn. He swiveled the paper so he could look at it more closely and added them himself. Thirty-three. He looked back at Adam, whose eye had slid shut again.

"Looks like you owe me thirty-three cents, mister."

Ben wordlessly reached in his pocket, his eyes on the dark head snuggled into his neck.

"He do that a lot?"

"No, of course not. He's only a little boy, he - I'm sure it's just a coincidence."

The storekeeper shrugged. "Pretty big coincidence, if you ask me."

"Don't be absurd. He couldn't possibly…" he trailed off. It _was_ a big coincidence. And Liz had had a knack with numbers.

Afterwards, in their rented room as he peeled off Adam's wet clothes and poked his arms through the armholes of his nightshirt, he couldn't stop thinking about it. He pulled down the nightshirt, noticing the spots that had worn thin with age - this would have to be replaced, too - maybe after summer was over - a new flannel one for winter - and pulled down the clean, worn blankets so Adam could crawl under them.

"Adam - " he finally ventured as he pulled the blankets up over him, "did you add up those numbers in the store?"

Adam rubbed sleepily at his eyes. "Yes, Pa."

Ben let his hand rest on Adam's chest, studying him curiously. "All those numbers? Who taught you to do that?"

Adam stopped rubbing his eyes to blink at him. "You did, Pa."

Ben laughed shortly. "I did not! Well, of course I taught you one and one is two and two and two is four…"

Adam frowned drowsily. "It's the same thing. Isn't it, Pa?"

Ben paused. "I - I suppose so…but…"

Adam yawned. "Did I do something wrong, Pa?"

Ben leaned over and dropped a kiss on his forehead. "No, no - of course not - it's just…" _How to explain?_ "It's just that most people can't add up numbers in their head like that, son."

"Oh." Adam snuggled down, thinking about this. "How come?"

"Well, because…" Ben paused again. "I don't know. They just can't."

"Oh." Adam pondered for a moment. "Are you going to tell me a story, Pa?"

Ben reached over and stroked the hair off his forehead. "A story? Adam, you're barely awake."

Adam set his jaw mulishly. "I'm awake enough for a story. " His father's hand dropped to his shoulder and he nestled under it. "Tell me about the clipper ships."

_TBC_

_Thank ypu, Susan! There's lots more to come!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_

INDIANA (Part 2)

__Odysseus and the Ghosts__

_The clipper ships._

Ben ran his hand mindlessly up and down the boat rail, wincing at the memory. How many nights had he used them as a bedtime story? As many as he could get away with. Talk about anything rather than what he probably should have been talking about. At the time it had seemed like the best solution - to let the wound heal over and start to scar. Later, he had known better - that to let the wound heal over prematurely caused grief to fester and poison you. Live and learn. He'd done better after Inger, he thought - handled it better with both Adam and Hoss. He leaned over the rail and saw what wasn't visible in the darkness. _Indiana._ The first real blow to the wall he had built so carefully around his heart - a wall later demolished by Inger's deft and loving hands.

He had found work even more easily than he had hoped - at a nearby stockyard, counting and marking and slaughtering hogs. It was hard, exhausting work, but it paid well and Mrs. Kittwell at the boarding house seemed kind and competent to look after Adam. The board was good. It had seemed like a good place to rest for a while. He returned to the boardinghouse every night smelling of sweat and blood and hog entrails but Adam was always unfailingly overjoyed to see him.

Ben scooped him up in his arms as he ran to greet him one evening, inhaling deeply. He smelled pleasantly of fresh baked goods - a wonderful change after the stench of the hogs.

Adam hugged him hard. "Guess what, Pa?"

Ben inhaled again. "Hm…let's see. Boiled ham for dinner?"

Adam shook his head impatiently. "Uh-huh. But guess what else?"

Ben shifted his shoulders, trying to relieve the tiredness in his back. "I give up. What else?"

"I have a job, too."

Ben's brows twitched a little at the sight of his beaming face, then he glanced over Adam's shoulder to raise them questioningly at Mrs. Kittwell. "Really," he said slowly. "What kind of a job?"

"I do things for Mrs. Kittwell. Keep the wood box full and set the table and stuff."

"Really," Ben repeated.

"Uh-huh. Mrs. Kittwell says if I do a good job she'll take something off our board and then we can get to California faster. Isn't that good, Pa?"

"Is that so," Ben spoke slowly, watching Mrs. Kittwell for an explanation. "Well, I'm glad if you're a help to Mrs. Kittwell, son, but I think that's a favor for her kindness, not a job."

Adam's black brows drew together and he looked at Mrs. Kitwell, too. Mrs. Kittwell blushed.

"He's running some little errands for me, Mr. Cartwright. It's a big help to me - I'd have to pay a boy to do it anyhow and this saves me that. Seems only fair I should take it off your board."

Adam looked triumphant. "See, Pa? It's a real job."

Ben patted him lightly on the back and lowered him to the floor. "I see, son. Adam, will you go to our room, please? Do your letters for me. I'd like to check them before dinner."

Adam hesitated, studying him darkly. "Aren't you happy, Pa? It will go faster if we both have a job, won't it?"

Ben squeezed his shoulder absently. "We'll talk about this later, son. Now do as I say."

Adam paused as though he wanted to argue further, but Ben's lowering brows convinced him to obey and he turned slowly toward the hall. Ben and Mrs. Kittwell watched him leave.

Once he was out of earshot Mrs. Kittwell burst out, "Please don't be offended, Mr. Cartwright. He's very helpful, really, and I'd have to pay someone anyway. And it makes him so happy."

Ben took a deep breath. "Mrs. Kittwell, we do not need charity."

"It's not charity!" she protested. "He works very hard for me!"

Ben kneaded at the tightening spot between his brows. "My son is four years old, Mrs. Kittwell. I do not want him going to work. I can support him just fine."

"I know…" Mrs. Kittwell clasped her hands earnestly. "But it's such a long day for him with you gone and it helps to pass the time…the things he does for me are very useful but, truly, they're just little things. Really, just the sort of thing he would be doing as chores anyway if he had a home."

Ben swallowed slowly.

Mrs. Kittwell eyed him timidly. "I hope you're not angry, Mr. Cartwright? I thought it would be a good arrangement for all of us - everybody benefits. Really, I was only trying to help."

Ben nodded dumbly. He was busy trying not to show how stricken he was by the words _"if he had a home."_ Adam had a home, didn't he? Well, not exactly a home, not yet, but he had Ben - that was almost the same thing, wasn't it? He swallowed again. Mrs. Kittwell seemed to be talking, but he couldn't concentrate on the words, his eyes on the hallway that lead to the rented room he shared with Adam. He held up his hand finally, forcing his face into what he hoped was an expression of pleasantness. "Mrs. Kittwell - I appreciate all your kindnesses to both me and Adam - please don't think otherwise. But if you'll excuse me, I need to have a talk with my son before dinner."

Mrs. Kittwell looked apprehensive and touched his sleeve questioningly as he passed.

He shook his head. "Adam is NOT in trouble," he assured her. "We just need to talk."

He found Adam sitting in the middle of his bed with his slate in his lap. He looked up as Ben entered, but didn't say anything. Ben dropped onto his haunches opposite him, studying his face keenly.

Adam waited.

"Adam, " he said at last, "do you understand that if you take this job, it comes with certain responsibilities? That you have to do it and do it well, even when you don't feel like it - that you can't stop if you get tired of it? When you accept a job from somebody then you have an unspoken agreement to honor - an agreement to fulfill that job to the best of your ability every day, until the job is done."

Adam thought about this, then nodded solemnly.

Ben sighed. "Well, I don't know if you do understand - I think you're too young to, really - but I suppose there's no better way to learn. But Mrs. Kittwell has been a good friend to us and it's important not to let your friends down."

Adam nodded again.

"Very well. If you really want to do this, then you may. You can tell Mrs. Kittwell at dinner."

Adam gave a little hop of joy and threw his arms around Ben's neck. Ben held him close, knowing that the talk was not over and that the next part might not go nearly as well. So after a minute he added, "Adam. Look at me. I need to talk to you about something else."

Ben sighed at the memory, turning away from the railing, wishing he could turn off his mind and sleep. Tomorrow would be another long and tedious day on deck with nothing but his thoughts for company. He shuddered. With the responsibilities of building a ranch and raising three boys to distract him it had always been easy to keep his memories at bay. Now they swarmed over him like the escaping demons of Pandora's Box.

He found a deck chair in the faint light and sank into it. Silly to pay for a berth and then spend the night on the deck, but he felt better out here in the open air - the tiny berths below seemed claustrophobically cramped - pressing in on him. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, remembering.

That talk with Adam had been a disaster. He remembered how shocked he had felt, and how helpless - shocked because, even as a small boy, Adam was not usually given to emotional outbursts. He had wondered, not for the first time, how other people figured out how to do child rearing. Did they automatically know? Would Elizabeth have known?

At dinner afterward he had sneaked a glance at the dark head next to his elbow, bent low over his plate, listlessly moving his food about. He smiled slightly despite the pull on his heart as he remembered. Adam still did that when he was bothered about something.

That night he had forced himself to drag his attention from the red rimmed eyes and occasional sniffling on his right and to turn it instead with assumed casualness to the other diners, trying to look unconcerned. He hated everyone knowing his business, but they weren't so blind that they couldn't tell something was wrong between him and Adam and that Adam had been crying.

He shifted his eyes to the man on his left. He worked at the slaughterhouse with him but was less particular about his hygiene. The smell of the day among the hogs was still strong about him and as Ben watched, he spit a long stream of tobacco juice into a nearby bucket before returning to shoveling in his food with a knife. Ben averted his eyes quickly to the other end of the table. Two men who helped keep up the livery sat there, unwashed and unshaven, their fingernails black with inattention, enjoying a voluble, good-natured argument. Next to them was a tall silent young man who currently worked sweeping out the feed store - probably just passing through and at least he was clean. Ben felt his heart sink. They were all honest men, of course, and respectable enough since Mrs. Kittwell wouldn't take any other kind of boarder, but all things considered, they weren't exactly the sort he would have chosen to expose his young son to. Lord only knew the kind of habits he could pick up from them. He smiled grimly. Not that they hadn't been exposed to worse in their journeys. He could rarely afford the better places and a roof was a roof. Still, Mrs. Kittwell was right. This wasn't any kind of home.

He put down his fork, suddenly losing his taste for dessert, and glanced at Adam's plate. Most of the food remained there, organized into tidy piles. Softly, so as not to draw the attention of the others, he said, "Are you going to try to eat that, or are you finished?"

Adam put down his fork. "Finished," he whispered, so softly that Ben had to stoop further to hear.

Lectures on wasting food and never knowing where your next meal was coming from leapt to Ben's lips, but he bit them firmly back. Now wasn't the time and he wouldn't be telling Adam anything he didn't already know from bitter personal experience. "All right, then. Let's go to our room. There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

Adam looked directly at him for the first time since dinner started. "I have to help Mrs. Kittwell."

"Not tonight, Adam - I need to talk to you."

Adam stared at him. "You said if I took it I had to do it no matter what."

Ben winced. "I know that. But this is important."

Adam's small jaw hardened. "You said," he repeated firmly.

Ben swore internally. Not for the first time he wished that Adam's memory were a little less accurate. "I know what I said, Adam. But you can officially start your new job tomorrow - tonight I need to talk to you." He lifted him down from his chair and held out his hand to him. For a second he could see Adam consider rebelling, but then he seemed to notice the others at the table too and hung his head. He ignored Ben's hand and walked past him toward their room. Ben pretended not to see the furtive glances that shot around the table and followed.

By the time Ben reached their room, Adam had already climbed onto his bed and buried his head in the pillow. Ben sighed. Evidently this was not going to get easier.

He sat on the edge of the bed and rested his hand on Adam's back. "Son. We need to talk about this."

Adam pressed his hands over his ears.

Ben sighed again, more deeply. "Adam. Look at me, please."

Adam pushed his face more deeply into the pillow.

Ben ground his teeth a little. "Adam, I know it's not pleasant, but ignoring it will not make it go away. Now, I want you to listen to me - "

Adam turned over suddenly and glared at him. "You promised!" he cried fiercely.

Ben was taken aback. "What did I promise?"

"That you'd always be there. That you'd always be my Pa. You promised me!"

Ben blinked. Had he? Probably…he hadn't wanted Adam to worry about being left alone, didn't want him to worry about it now, in fact, but he had to tell him about Abel - he had to know that he had someplace to go if anything did happen to his father. Ben was only too aware of how easily accidents could happen - what if he was hurt or killed? What would become of Adam then? An orphanage? Some well-meaning soul letting him work for his keep, like Mrs. Kittwell? Some less than well-meaning soul taking advantage of his youth and vulnerability? His heart hammered painfully in his chest. He couldn't bear the thought of him left defenseless in the hands of uncaring strangers. No - Adam needed to know about his grandfather. Needed to know enough to explain to people where he was in case worse came to worst. He could count on Abel to step in for him. Abel would love Adam. Abel would take care of him. He cleared his throat carefully, wishing there was someone to tell him how to say this.

"Certainly I'll always be your Pa, Adam - and I'll always be there for you. I just meant that in CASE anything ever happened to me you should - "

Adam promptly dropped his face back into the pillow and covered his ears again.

Ben pinched at the bridge of his nose. _Well, this was going well. _It had seemed so simple when he'd started. He desperately wanted to take Adam in his arms and assure him that of course he would always be there for him, forever and ever, but another part of him kept whispering, what if he wasn't? He reached down and rested his hand on the back of Adam's head this time.

Adam didn't look up from the pillow, but he didn't flinch away, either. He was so still that it almost broke Ben's heart.

He stroked the dark hair, thinking.

"Adam, " he said suddenly, "do you know what a grandfather is?"

There was a pause, then Adam cautiously turned his head to peer at him.

Ben wanted to smile, but he didn't dare. "Did you know that you have one?"

Adam turned his head a little more, studying him. "You mean like Grandfather Skinner in Schuylerville?" he said at last.

Ben shuffled through his memory. "Oh. Well, something like that. But I think everyone called Grandfather Skinner that as more of a - title of respect. I mean a real grandfather."

Adam rubbed at his damp eyes, frowning thoughtfully. "What's a real one?" he asked, almost against his will.

Ben forced his face to stay bland. "Well, you know how I'm your Pa?" Adam nodded a little warily, cautious of a trap. "Well, my Pa would be your grandfather. A grandfather is your parent's father."

Adam rolled onto his back, his eyes on Ben's. "My grandfather is your father?"

Ben flushed. "No - well, yes, of course, but my father is no longer alive. The grandfather you have is - " he coughed to clear his suddenly tight throat, "is your mother's father."

Adam was silent, looking at him.

Ben didn't know what to make of his expression. "Adam…" he began uneasily, a terrible suspicion dawning, "you do know you had a mother?"

Adam blinked, then nodded slowly. "Mrs. Callahan told me."

Ben wanted to weep. Mrs. Callahan. Hadn't _he_ told him? He must have - surely, in four years he _must_ have talked SOME about Elizabeth to Adam? Oh it was hard, and he actively avoided it, he knew that…even now he would like nothing more than to close the subject and move on, but…he cleared his throat again, but his voice came out husky anyway. "What did she tell you?"

Adam was watching his face carefully. "That she was beautiful."

Ben nodded. "She was. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen." He took a quick breath to get a hold of himself and tried to smile brightly. "What else?"

Adam was silent for a moment. "I don't remember," he said at last.

Ben was surprised. Adam's memory was surprisingly and sometimes even exasperatingly thorough. "All right. Well, then. " He tried not to sound relieved. "Her father is your grandfather. He lives in Boston. You know - where the clipper ships are."

Adam brightened. "Can we go see him?"

Ben smiled. "Some day. I promise. But it's very far away."

"Oh." Adam looked disappointed. "How far?"

"Well - it's taken us your whole life so far to get from there to here, and we're not even in California yet. So pretty far, wouldn't you say?" Adam nodded, trying to imagine it. "But you should always remember that you have a grandfather you can live with, Adam, in case - well, in case anybody ever asks."

Adam nodded again, his brain obviously puzzling this new information.

Ben saw his eyes droop and patted his arm. Poor little fellow. Tired himself out crying. He went over to the washbowl and dampened the towel in the ewer, then returned to the bed, gently wiping the sticky tear tracks from Adam's face, then letting the cool cloth rest over his eyes for a minute. "You know, " he said quietly, "I think you should get some extra sleep tonight. After all, you're starting a job tomorrow."

Adam nodded wordlessly, curling into a ball.

Ben laughed softly. "Not yet - let me get you into your nightshirt first."

He struggled Adam out of his shirt and trousers and into his nightshirt, leaning his sleep-heavy body against him as he maneuvered the sleeves over his hands. He held him for a minute then; thinking, remembering - wondering a thousand things, then eased him onto his back. "Come on now - under the covers." Adam slid under the covers more due to Ben's help than any conscious volition and Ben tucked the blankets tightly around his neck, kissing him on the ear. "Good night, son."

Adam snuggled into the cot. "Story," he mumbled from deep inside the pillow's depths.

Ben sighed. "Story? Do you really think you can stay awake for a story?"

"Uh huh."

Ben chuckled a little at the stubborn conviction in his tone. "Very well. What'll it be - the clipper ships?"

Adam opened his eyes and looked at him.

Ben felt his heart tremble in his chest. He grasped Adam's shoulder with a suddenly palsied hand, avoiding his gaze, fighting for his composure. "I see. So you think - " his voice came out in a strangled whisper and he cleared his throat and tried to start again. "So you think that tonight you might like me to - tell you a little about your mother?"

Adam's brows rumpled into faintly anxious lines. He nodded silently.

Ben nodded back, trying to sound calm around the great rush of tears in his throat. "Well, let's see…I met your mother by a clipper ship, you know…"

"Is that where she is now?"

Ben swallowed. "No - no, son."

"Then where is she?"

Ben's hand tightened on his shoulder. "She's - she's in heaven…"

Adam grew very still. "How come?" he asked faintly.

Ben turned away and looked hard at the opposite wall. A question he would like to ask his Maker himself. "Because - because that's where all good people go."

Adam was quiet, then, "Will I go there?"

Ben's heart turned chill. "Someday, Adam, I'm sure - but not for a long, long time."

There was a pause and Ben was convinced he had fallen asleep, but when he turned to check he saw his eyes were wide and open, fixed on him unwaveringly. "Will you go there, Pa?" his voice quavered slightly.

"I hope, someday…" he saw Adam's face and recklessly threw caution to the winds, damning the consequences, daring God to make a liar of him. "But not for a long, long time for me either, Adam. I won't leave you for a long, long time."

Adam clutched at his hand and held on. "Promise? For real this time?"

Ben stroked his hair with his free hand. "Yes, Adam - I promise. I promise for real. Cross my heart."

Adam fell asleep still clinging to him with a two handed grip and Ben stayed by his bed the whole night, wanting him to know he was there, even in his sleep, wanting him to be able to keep his hold on him all night long.

Or maybe it was him who had wanted to keep his hold on Adam. Looking back, he really couldn't be sure.

_TBC_


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

INDIANA (Part 3)

__Odysseus and the Ghosts__

Something had changed for Ben in Indiana. Maybe talking to Adam about Elizabeth, even that little, had helped. He couldn't be sure, but whatever it was, his grief was somehow a little less acute. It frightened him at first and he had stubbornly clung to his sorrow, afraid that this shift was somehow disloyal - the beginning of forgetting her - but despite himself, he was beginning to heal anyway. He wondered now if even Inger, as persistent and patient as she was, would have been able to get through to him if he hadn't already started to change.

They had stayed for over a month in the end, carefully putting aside money. Adam worked hard for Mrs. Kittwell and while Ben still wasn't completely comfortable with it, he had to admit that the money off their board did help. By the time they were getting ready to leave, Ben had made a decision and carefully counted out a share of their savings. He took Adam over to the livery one morning after their tearful separation from Mrs. Kittwell and led him around the back to where the animals were kept.

"What do you think?" he asked him, watching his face.

Adam frowned at the roofed wagon in front of him. "Is it ours?"

"That's right. Oh, I know it's not really a home, but it's a place to keep our things and it has a roof for when the weather is bad. We can even sleep in back sometimes."

Adam ran around back and tried to peek over the gate. "I want to see!"

Ben followed and boosted him up so he could clamber inside.

"It's big!" Adam crowed.

Ben couldn't help smiling at his pleasure though he secretly thought it would probably get small pretty fast if they had to spend much time in there together.

Adam scrambled to the front and disappeared through the opening to the driver's seat.

"Adam - " Ben called warningly as he hurried around to the front just in time to see Adam slide to the ground. "Adam!" he said sharply, then sighed at Adam's look of mild surprise at his tone. Sometimes he wished his boy were just a little less independent.

Adam lost all interest in the wagon at the sight of the horse. He trotted around to its head and lifted his hand up to touch the animal's nose.

Ben made a snatch at his other hand and held on firmly, shooting an apprehensive glance at the horse's large feet.

Oblivious to his father's agitation, Adam giggled as the horse sniffed curiously at the tiny fingers. "She likes me!"

"He." Ben shook his head ruefully. _Oh, well. It would probably take a thunderclap to stir the tired old nag anyway._

"He," Adam corrected himself. "Does he have a name?"

"Why don't you give him one?"

Adam considered, patting gently at the velvety snout. "I think I'll call him 'Grandfather'."

Ben huffed out a laugh before he could stop himself. "I think that's an excellent name. Very dignified." He could hardly wait to write Abel. "Now, let's get started. Up you go."

He lifted Adam onto the wagon seat and Adam squinted up at the sky. "It's high," he observed.

"Yes, it is," agreed Ben dryly. "And it's near the wheels. Which is why I'd like you to wait for me to lift you up and down."

Adam scowled. "I can get up and down by myself."

"Adam."

Adam knew that tone and kicked his heels against the wooden seat restlessly. "Okay," he said at last.

"Good boy." Ben climbed up next to him and gathered up the reins. "Yaw!"

The horse gave a long-suffering snort and started forward.

This horse will never win any races, observed Ben a few hours later as the fresh green countryside rolled by about them. But it was patient and steady and calm around children, and that was more important. And it was certainly a more comfortable mode of travel than they were used to. He sneaked a glance at Adam. He had been quiet so long that he expected to find him asleep, but no, he had his head tilted back, studying the great blue arc of sky overhead. Ben's face softened. What had caught his interest now? Pictures in the clouds, maybe? He felt the familiar twinge. Liz had always been finding pictures in the clouds - had laughed with him about one that looked like an elephant shortly before Adam was born. He lightened his hold on the reins.

"What are you looking at, son?" he asked softly.

Adam kept his eyes fixed overhead. "Mrs. Kittwell said heaven is up in the sky. I thought maybe I could see my mother." He dropped his gaze resignedly to where his boots dangled over the floor, his shoulders drooping a little. "I guess it's too far, though."

Ben's breath caught in his throat, his vision blurring suddenly. _Oh, Adam. What can I say?_

When he could trust himself to speak he said slowly, "Adam - do you remember what I taught you about perspective? About how sometimes even when things look close they're really far away?"

Adam cocked his head at him and nodded thoughtfully.

Ben took another deep breath. "Well, sometimes it works the other way, too - sometimes, even though things look far away, they're really much closer than they seem."

Adam frowned, concentrating hard on what he was saying.

"Because if there is one thing I am absolutely sure of, son, it's that your mother is never far from you - even if you can't see her."

Adam looked back at the sky as though he might catch a glimpse of something he had missed before. He sighed a little. "Do you ever see her, Pa?"

Ben drank in the achingly familiar profile and then turned quickly forward to hide the moisture stinging at his eyes. "Oh, son," he murmured, half to himself. "Oh, son - you have no idea."

Ben awoke with a start and a bump as the boat scraped over a sandbar. He was stiff and chilly and the sky was lightening with the first hint of dawn.

He'd slept out here all night. He had to clean up for breakfast. He rubbed a hand over his eyes to clear them and it came away wet - he sat studying the moisture on his fingers for a moment, reflecting on his dream memories, rubbing absently at a strange tightness in the left side of his chest.

_Oh, Adam - what was I thinking?_ _It was all very well for me to promise to stay for a long, long time_…_why didn't I think to make you promise, too?_

_TBC_

_End of INDIANA_


	6. Chapter 6

BOSTON

(Part 1)

"When is the last time you went outside?"

He didn't answer - had stopped answering such pointless questions days ago. The close air of the room became fragrant with the scents of tea and soap and pungent medicine, and then rain as he heard the window casements creak open. The moist breeze brought him to life.

"Shut that!" he said sharply. "Last thing he needs is a chill!"

"Ah, so you haven't gone deaf then. " The tone was dry, but he felt the breeze diminish some. "Miracle, seeing the way you sit alone in here, day in and day out."

"I'm not alone." His voice was low, but held the warning note of a suppressed roar. "Not yet. Close that window, or you'll kill him sure."

"A little fresh air will be good for you both." But the tone was milder this time. "And you didn't answer my question."

The wall sconces suddenly sprang to life and he blinked, cupping his hand over his eyes to shield them from the sudden brightness. "You want answers then ask sensible questions."

"It was a perfectly good question. When is the last you went outside?"

He shifted positions, squinting his eyes to help them adjust. "Why?" he snapped sourly. "Something special going on out there?"

"Why not go out and find out?"

He pushed the rocker into truculent motion. "No," he said after a moment. "I'll stay." He ignored the gusty sigh that accompanied his pronouncement.

"Then at least come over here and have some tea while I clean him up. Allow the poor boy a little privacy."

He gave a snort of laughter. "You call a perfectly strange woman bathing him privacy? Just as well he's unconscious."

"I am not in the least strange and think of myself as a nurse. Heaven knows I've enough experience. Get out of my way now and feed yourself - I've enough to do."

Abel pushed himself from the rocker with reluctant stiffness and moved toward the small table by the window where she had laid out tea, pausing just short of it to hover anxiously around the foot of the bed.

"I said _eat_."

He made a face. "Bossy creature."

"If you had any sense I wouldn't have to bother."

He poked distractedly at a piece of toast. "Don't know why you have to keep shaving him anyway. Not like he's going anywhere."

"Because hair can steal the strength needed to fight the fever."

He watched her movements, smooth and rhythmic, for a while, and then sank slowly into a small chair facing the table. "Wives' tale," he muttered.

She didn't bother to glance up. "Maybe. But why take the chance?" She reached for a soft towel. "Besides, I'm sure it's more comfortable."

Abel's hand went unconsciously to his own beard and he glared. "Lot you know about it." He cut the top off of the egg sitting in the eggcup without really seeing it, dabbing at it with a bit of toast. He rumbled in his throat, glancing up again to where she was stirring a mug of shaving soap. "Spose I - " he broke the toast in two and abandoned it on his plate. "Spose I - should be thanking you."

She looked up at him in surprise, but his eyes skidded away. "I don't see why," she said easily. "It's my job."

He snorted. "It's not and you know it. A little cooking and cleaning and marketing - that's your job. Not - " he turned away and stared hard at the window.

'Well, then, I guess it must be my pleasure." He snorted in response. "It's true. You're not the only one to enjoy having a young face about for a change, you know." She paused, her eyes intent on spreading the shaving soap evenly. "And you're not the only one to ever lose someone."

"No," the voice was barely above a whisper. "No, I'm not. I'm sorry, Alice."

She glanced up from her work and looked at him in surprise.

He caught the look and raised his brows in return.

She smiled in response. "Usually you call me Mrs. Longworth," she explained. "That's the first time you've ever used my first name."

He grimaced. "Then I'm sorry for that, too. Next I'll be getting as cheeky as that one - " he broke off abruptly, turning hastily away from the figure on the bed and pressing a hand over his eyes.

Her eyes flashed with compassion, but her tone remained even. "Like grandfather like grandson, I suppose."

"No - " he shook his head fiercely, "No. He's not. Like his father, surely, and like his mother in almost more ways than I can bear to - but not like me. Never. I know what I am."

He made a crumbling mess of the toast in front of him, staring out at the grey dreariness. Typical New England springtime. There were things he should attend to…business things…but he had lost interest in them somehow. Adam would be irritated with him. He liked things done right, and on time. He smiled faintly. That must come from Benjamin, that rigorous, efficient streak. He could remember it, almost, if he thought about it - remember Benjamin's meticulous attention to schedule and detail on shipboard, but he had surrendered that memory until he had actually seen Adam at work in the Chandlers Shop - that had brought it all back. Not that he had approved of him working there in the first place.

It had happened more or less by accident - a brief stop on one of their weekend strolls. Abel had wanted to check on some things since one of his men had just retired and another was down with influenza. It was Adam who had suggested that he could assist on the weekends, Abel had waved the idea aside.

"As if you don't work hard enough. Why don't you spend a little more time in play with your friends? Row the lake, go on a picnic - find a pretty girl to write bad poems to…"

"I can do both. This the place?"

Abel nodded a casual assent, but in truth he was touched by the look on the boy's face - a softening, as if he were approaching a long anticipated shrine. Romantic soul. That must come from his father - certainly not from a hardened old barnacle like himself. "This is it, if you care to step inside. Hasn't changed that much since your parents started the place - still running, still solid - despite your father and all his new fangled notions."

Adam had taken a step towards the door, but stopped abruptly. "What was that?"

"Your father and all his new fangled ideas. New navigational equipment and the like. Like there was something wrong with the old way. Though I'll admit a few of those ideas didn't turn out so ill."

"New ideas." Adam cocked his head at him. "_**Pa**__?_ "

"Oh, aye - was always wanting to try new this and new that and the very latest - now what is it you're gaping at, boy? You have the look of a beached carp!"

Adam shook his head slightly as if to rouse himself. "Nothing, I just - Pa. I can't imagine. He's so old fashioned. Why, every time I mention trying something new he practically blows his top."

Abel's brows jumped. "Does he now?"

"He's so stubborn about it. It's hard to believe…"

"Hmph." Abel reached for his pipe and tobacco and started to work on filling the bowl. "Is he now." He tamped down the tobacco, making sure it was even. "You keep at him though, I trust?"

"Of course."

He flipped open his tinderbox and eyed Adam over it. "No matter what he says."

Adam nodded. "Not much luck, though."

Abel struck a light, hovering it over the pipe bowl. "Drives him mad, does it?"

Adam grinned a little. "I think so."

"Good." Abel lit the pipe and drew deeply on it. "Then there's justice."

He pushed at the door to the shop and went inside. Adam followed close at his heels, his face awash in that intent expression that Abel enjoyed so much. "You poke around if you like. I need to check on a few things." He squinted at the interior with critical eyes. "Needs a bit of cleaning up, I suppose."

"A _bit_." Adam picked up a stack of papers from the nearest desk and automatically started organizing them. "Look at this place."

Abel chewed on his pipe stem and waved vaguely at him. "Now, now - let's have none of your tidy, fussy ways - I'll just take a quick peek at the books and then we're gone. No point in spending a fine Saturday afternoon in the Shop."

"It's an overcast afternoon, and we might just as well take a few minutes to get things in order. Won't take long. How do you find anything?"

"I can find everything just fine," answered Abel sternly. "It's just - just a might - casual. I like it that way."

Adam snorted inelegantly in response.

"Well, I'll tell you this," rejoined Abel indignantly, "you didn't get those persnickety habits of yours from my side of the family."

"Yes, I can see that," agreed Adam dryly, trying to sort through a scattered jumble of inventory. "What is all this?"

"That's - why that's - some things that need labeling, I suppose. Leave it, lad - you've better things to do."

"We might as well fix it, since we're here. Want me to take a look at the books? I do them for Pa a lot of times."

"What I want is for you not to work for a few bloody minutes on what should be your free afternoon!"

Adam laughed. "You call this work? This is nothing. Why, when Marie died - "

He stopped so abruptly that Abel looked at him in surprise. Why, the lad's face had actually gone white. What on earth…?

"Marie," he nudged gently after a tense, suspended pause. "That would be your last stepmother?"

Adam nodded jerkily, avoiding his eyes and paying meticulous attention to the stacks of boxes he was straightening, his face now colored with a hectic flush.

Abel beetled his brows. And now he actually looked mortified. "Something you'd like to tell me about…?" he suggested gently.

Adam ducked his head. "There's nothing to - there was just a lot of - work. After she died. With Hoss and Joe and…everything…"

"Yes. Of course. There would be." Abel waited patiently. He would bet his life there was more, but he knew better than to push. After a minute he knew there would be nothing more forthcoming and he removed his pipe from his mouth, choosing his words with care. "Well. Perhaps some time you'll tell me all about it. Wouldn't hurt if you took a glance at the books, I suppose - they're just a jumble of numbers to me. They're on that desk back there - " He indicated with a jerk of his head and Adam made a grateful escape to the rear of the store. Abel returned his pipe to his mouth and sucked on it thoughtfully.

"Find 'em, lad?" he asked after listening to the shuffling and banging of ledgers and giving him a decent time to regain himself.

"Yeah. _**All **_of them." Adam's voice floated up to him, sounding normal again and tinged with irony. "How did you ever manage on a ship is what I'd like to know. Don't you ever throw anything away?"

Abel blustered. "Why throw away perfectly good things that you might just as well need later? Can't believe your father raised such a wasteful boy."

"Well, in ranching we learn that sometimes you have to clear away the old and the dead to make room for the new. Do you have any idea how far some of these go back?"

"It's useful, I find, to have a history of the business. And you need to learn a little respect for your elders, young man."

"Well, the first thing we're going to do is create some kind of an archive system for you. That way you can keep all your history but it doesn't have to be cluttering up everything underfoot. Look at this one. I'll bet this is the first…"

Abel waited. The silence stretched between them.

"Adam?" he offered after a moment. Still no answer, and he strode to the back of the store this time. "I hope you're not throwing anything out back here! I'll have you know that I'm still - " He stopped, puzzled and a little concerned.

Adam sat with the ledgers surrounding him, one open in his hands, on his face an expression Abel couldn't begin to fathom. He maneuvered to get a peek at the ledger and felt his own face melt with sudden understanding.

"Ah." He smiled fondly. "She wrote a fine hand, didn't she?"

Adam didn't answer and Abel mentally shook himself. Stupid thing to say to a boy about the mother he didn't know - that she had nice penmanship, as if that was all there was to her. "Of course, I'm afraid she wasn't always tidy either - look at the way she used to scribble in the margins - the marketing list…ah. Look. That one there - that must have been things she needed to prepare for you. She worked here almost until you were born, you know. Your father didn't approve, but your mother had a mind of her own, make no mistake." His eyes scanned the page, his heart warming within him.

"I suppose you're right - " he continued slowly after a moment, "About hanging on to everything. Time I cleared out a bit. Don't suppose you'd like to take that off my hands?"

Adam swallowed.

"Just taking up space around here I can ill afford. Be doing me a favor, really."

"But - " Adam hesitated longingly. "It's - yours, and - "

"And now it's yours. Nasty old dust catcher really."

He dropped a hand briefly on his shoulder. "Take it, lad. It's a little link with your parents' life together. I think it belongs to you."

_TBC_


	7. Chapter 7

BOSTON

(Part 2)

He smiled slightly at the memory. He'd lost track now of how many times he'd stopped by Adam's room nights to make sure he wasn't studying too late, only to find him asleep with that ledger splayed open on his chest. Such a small thing to cling to - he wished he had more to give him. Adam had brought Elizabeth back for him in so many ways - he wished he could return the favor.

This grandfatherhood was surprisingly pleasant and he took to it - not that he hadn't to fatherhood, Elizabeth had been his very joy, especially after Meg had died, but he couldn't say he'd really had much hand in her upbringing, gone to sea for months at a time as he'd been. She'd romped on his ship when he was in harbor, imitated him barking orders to the crew, played with him and, later, taken care of him, but there was no doubt that it was her mother who'd had the raising of her. Of course, it was Ben who'd had the raising of Adam, but he felt as if he was having a small part - showing him life in the big city - the city where he was born.

He liked having him about and preened himself a little on his tall, handsome grandson. He normally wasn't one for frequenting teas and soirees and dances but couldn't resist the urge to show him off and, telling himself that he was just giving Adam the opportunity to meet people, he accepted an invitation for both of them to a soiree planned in support of the Fund for Indigent Seamen. Of course, that meant another delicate dance around that pride of his.

He broached the subject casually one evening while he was pretending to peruse the _Globe_ and Adam was burying his face in one of those books he was so fond of.

"So," he began casually. "Have you met the Lawrences?"

Adam shook his head without lifting his eyes from his book. "I don't think so. Who are they?"

"Oh, fine folk. Known them since Meg and I were a young couple. They're having a musical soiree next week. Thought you might fancy it."

There was the smallest hesitation. "Whatever you like, Grandfather."

"Never mind what I like. I was thinking that _you_ might like it. They're having a harpist or some such nonsense. Sounded like something you might enjoy."

"A harpist?" Adam dropped his book to let it dangle from his hand. "A real one? I've read about harps, but I've never heard one."

Abel suppressed a pleased smile. "Then this would be your chance." _Now came the tricky part_. "Have many parties out your way at home?"

"Some." Adam got up and refreshed his grandfather's coffee and then his own. "Barn raisings and hoe-downs, mostly. Barbeques."

"Hm." Abel cleared his throat, trying to decide how best to approach this. "Sound like fine times. Soirees are all right - a bit high toned, though." He stirred sugar into his coffee and sipped. "You know the kind - ladies in big skirts and gloves and the like."

Adam nodded, stretching his long legs out on the ottoman at his feet.

"Company manners. The whole bit."

Adam nodded again, propping his book up in his lap.

"Lots of bowing and handshaking…men in monkey suits..."

Adam let his eyes drift back to the page. "Pa had one made for me in San Francisco before I left. If that's what you're asking."

Abel shot him a glare of annoyance. "Now, if you knew what I was asking why the devil did you let me go on like that?"

Adam grinned.

Abel tried to scowl. "Miserable boy. Is the suit heavy enough for Boston weather? Winter's coming on."

"I'm sure it's fine, Grandfather."

"Maybe a new weskit, then, just to keep out the cold."

"The one I have will do just fine."

"Now, how do you know that? Have you ever been to Boston in winter before? I think I should have a look at it."

"Grandfather, you are NOT going to buy me a new vest!"

"Now, surely a grandfather has the right…"

"And don't start that again! Pa's right - if you keep this up I won't be worth anything when I get home!"

The words hung between them in the air, startling both of them - Adam with a sudden wave of homesickness and Abel with the terrible realization that this time would eventually come to an end. They were both silent for a moment, torn by their thoughts.

Abel finally got himself in hand. _Never mind that now - more important to make the best of the time they did have._ Pushing the feeling aside he reached resolutely for his coffee again, eyeing Adam with assumed casualness over the cup rim. "I know where there's some fine haberdasheries," he said slyly. "Don't go in much for finery myself, but I know one or two." This time it was Adam's turn to look exasperated. "We should ask Mrs. Longworth about color and style and such. She used to be a dressmaker."

"Grandfather - "

"Oh, indulge me, lad," his voice lowered. "I haven't that much time with you."

Adam hesitated, then sighed, then laughed. "All right," he turned his eyes to his book again. "For someone who supposedly knows nothing about instruments you sure know how to play me."

"Well, I've had plenty of practice."

Adam looked up quizzically.

"Your mother, lad. You're - very like her."

Adam was quiet a moment. "Pa says that." He paused and added, a little shyly, "How?"

"Oh, that tongue of yours, for one. Disrespectful, the both of you. Shameful."

Adam smiled faintly. "Oh."

"Those books you're always lugging everywhere. And your smile - well." Abel swirled his coffee. "Lots of things. Little things. Things I'd almost forgotten."

"I wish - " Adam broke off, dropping his eyes back to the book in his lap.

Abel put down his cup and sighed. "I know, laddie," he said simply. "I wish, too."

He wished for a number of things, more with every passing day. Watching the dark head bent over the books every Saturday he found himself wishing, almost against his volition, that that was something that he could count on not only this year and the three after, but for many years into the future as well. A pleasant thought - to be able to hand his business over to his only heir - to have Adam slide as neatly into his future as he had into his life. And who was to say? There was a lot in Boston to tempt a young man of Adam's ilk. He promised himself that he wouldn't hint or push - that the decision would be Adam's alone - but there was nothing that said that he couldn't hope. And with every passing day his hopes grew a little more.

But that had been before, of course. Now he didn't care if Adam chose to stay in Boston or on the Ponderosa or in Timbuktu - as long as he stayed alive. _Horrible enough to outlive your own child - to outlive your grandchild was obscene._ _Like history repeating itself_…He noticed he had crushed his toast and abandoned it impatiently, tapping an indifferent spoon against the egg.

The soiree had been a revelation. Adam had looked very handsome, he thought, in his charcoal suit with the new dark red vest Mrs. Longworth had selected, his silver watch chain stretched across it. Oh, possibly he was a bit biased, but he didn't think so. He felt justified in his small sin of pride when he saw more than one lady glance their way as they were received at the entryway.

"That's enough, lad!" he had scolded brusquely as Adam tried to help him out of his coat. "I'm old, after all, not enfeebled. Why don't you go get us a couple of glasses of punch and I'll introduce you round?"

He heard Adam chuckle softly behind him and felt him surrender the coat.

"All right." He looked around the room with interest.

Abel watched him as he made his way to the refreshment table at one side of the room. He was surprised at how poised he seemed. Oh, there was a definite measure of reserve in his manner, but he had expected more shyness. He saw him hold his hand out to one of the guests at the punch table - retired Captain Starbuck it looked like from here - then saw them both glance his way. He smiled and nodded in return, smoothing down the sleeves of his dress uniform. Damn, but he hated getting rigged out for these affairs. Still, he had a feeling he was going to enjoy this one. He swaggered over to the pair and hooked his thumbs in his lapels.

"Evening, Jonah," he said jovially. "I see you've met my grandson."

Captain Starbuck nodded. "Abel. Indeed I have! Elizabeth's boy, hey? Doesn't seem possible it was that long ago, does it? But if he's grown that much then I suppose we've been getting older too." He laughed heartily at his own joke. "Stayin' with you for a spell?"

"That's right. He's here to go to university. Taking his course at Harvard."

Starbuck raised his brows. "Well, now, that's something, isn't it? What are you studying - Adam, wasn't it?"

Adam opened his mouth to answer but Abel interjected smoothly, "Oh, it's a double course - engineering and architecture."

"Eh, that so?" Starbuck eyed him keenly. "Can't make up your mind what it is you want to do, young fella?"

Adam opened his mouth again, but Abel swept in, "Eh, well, it's difficult to narrow down your choices when you're talented at so many things."

Adam shot him a speaking glance and he blinked back serenely.

"Must have been a long trip for you - living somewhere way out west in the wilderness, aren't you? Doesn't your father have need of you?"

"I - "

"Yes, well, he does, but Adam's on scholarship, don't you know. Couldn't say no to a thing like that, so Benjamin gave his blessing. You remember Benjamin, don't you? Fine a first mate as I ever had."

Adam cleared his throat. "Actually, Captain Starbuck, it's a _partial_ - "

"Did I mention that he was musical?" Abel interrupted cheerfully. Adam's stare grew pointed, but he ignored it. "One reason we're here tonight. Young Adam is partial to music. Plays himself."

"That so?" Starbuck turned to squint at him.

Adam gave him a weak, embarrassed smile. "Well, I - "

"You should hear him," Abel continued blithely. "Beautiful. Isn't that right, lad?"

The look Adam gave him spoke volumes.

Abel beamed at him, unruffled. "Well, I expect we'd better run along and mingle some. Pleased to see you, Jonah."

"Nice meeting you," Adam agreed faintly. He fell into step beside Abel. "Is this what it's going to be like all evening?" he hissed through his teeth, sotto voce.

Abel smiled innocently. "What's that, lad? Meeting people? Aye, of course - that's the whole point. Well, that and the music."

"Do you think that you could tone it down just a little?"

Abel opened his eyes in limpid surprise. "Tone what down, laddie?"

Adam folded his arms over his chest. "The - I don't know - gushing?"

Abel's eyes twinkled. "Now, laddie-mine. Is there a single word I've said that hasn't been true?'

Adam hesitated. "Not - not specifically, but - "

"But what, then?"

"Well, I think you could go a little easy on the butter."

"Now, Adam - " Abel adopted his most sincere expression. "Would you deny an old man the pleasure of introducing his only grandson around?"

Adam rolled his eyes. "Oh brother."

Abel beamed and clapped him on the shoulder. "I thought not. Eh, look over there - Captain Reginald Thomas. Let's go introduce you to him."

Adam groaned.

Abel couldn't remember when he'd last enjoyed himself so much, at least at first - he got as much wicked enjoyment out of Adam's discomfort as he did out of his own bragging. But as the evening whiled on he noticed something else that began to wear at his pleasure. He had at first observed the fairer sex's subtle and not so subtle responses to his grandson with pleasure and pride, but as the night continued he felt a creeping sense of alarm and began to wonder more and more if this had been such a good idea after all. It came to him suddenly that he had no idea what Adam's experience with women was - if indeed, he had any - especially with the more sophisticated types that Boston had to offer.

The possibilities of the problems this could present and his absolute unpreparedness to deal with them almost made him dizzy and throughout the harp recital he found himself less and less focusing on the music and more and more on his growing concerns. What on earth had ever made him believe that he was equipped to handle this? Who was he to guide a young man through the rocky shoals of one of society's romances?

The sound of tinkling laughter mixing with Adam's baritone caught his ear and he glanced to his left to see the Widow Davenport with her gloved hand resting lightly on Adam's arm as she laughed up into his face. He frowned. Good God, the woman was at least ten years the boy's senior - what on earth was she thinking? Never mind - he had a pretty good idea what she was thinking. He glared meaningfully at her and made it a point to corner her at the punch table.

She smiled at him like a lazy cat. "My goodness, Abel - they certainly grow them big and strong out West, don't they? Maybe we should send all our young men out there."

Abel stared hard at her without the smallest glimmer of a smile. "He's a boy and my grandson, Lydia - I'll thank you not to forget either."

She smiled benignly. "How old did you say he was?"

Abel harumphed. "Nineteen," he growled.

"Hm…" Lydia set her fan in languid motion. "Hm."

Abel watched her glide away, skirts swaying. He was rapidly coming to the conclusion that the wisest course would be to take Adam back to the house and lock him up there for four years, releasing him only for classes.

Coward, he chided himself. You were happy enough to parade him around before you realized the consequences - now what? Write to Benjamin, "Women are looking at your son - your son is looking back - what do I do? Please hurry reply?" No doubt that would give Benjamin a good laugh at his expense. Not that he couldn't survive that, but any advice would probably get here too late to do any good anyway.

The implications and possibilities left him brooding so deeply that Adam made his way to his side and asked under his breath if he felt all right.

Abel seized the opportunity. "A little tired is all," he suggested feebly.

"Then let's go home," Adam insisted, frowning. "I'll get our coats." Abel followed him meekly, feeling like a traitor. Outside on the sidewalk he noticed Adam peering at him anxiously. "I'll wave down a cab," he said firmly.

Abel flushed, feeling his own duplicity. "Nah, laddie - just need some fresh air. Let's walk."

Adam hesitated, ready to protest.

Abel insisted, setting the pace. "Will do me good. One of those stuffy old cabs will only give me a headache and it's a beautiful night. Look at those stars. Your father ever teach you about them?"

Adam nodded, still watching him, his expression troubled.

_Damn_. Abel tried to think of a way to distract him. "Did you enjoy the music, now?"

Predictably, Adam's face changed and he nodded again. "I've never heard anything like it."

"Aye, liked it myself. It's no wonder they write about angels playing harps. Did you enjoy yourself?"

Adam nodded one more time, but shot him a probing glance.

Abel was grateful for the sporadic lighting offered by the street lamps, keeping them half in shadow. He paused on the bridge over the Charles, trying to think of what he wanted to say. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he offered weakly at last.

Adam leaned on the railing next to him and gazed out over the water, silvered with moonlight. "Yes," he said quietly at last. "I've grown to love it."

Abel nodded in the darkness, struggling with himself. "Adam," he said at last. "Can I ask you something?'

His tone must have warned him because his answer sounded wary. "All right."

"Have you - known - many women out your way in the territories?"

Adam shrugged non-committally. "There aren't many to know. Indians and saloon girls, mostly."

"I see." Abel felt very much like he was drowning, but he pressed on. "Well. And has your father - ever - had occasion to - make himself clear on certain points of - of - "

The pause hung heavy in the air.

"Of?" Adam interjected politely after a moment.

"Damn it, you must know what I'm trying to say!"

Adam chuckled. "Well, I don't, exactly, but - if it's what I _think_ it is then I can assure you that the process of breeding animals makes such mysteries unmysterious at an early age."

"Ah, well, animals." Abel snorted. "They're honest and straightforward about it, no doubt. Women aren't, I'm afraid. Not all women anyway."

Adam looked at him questioningly.

Abel sighed. "I don't know how to tell you what I want to say, lad. Except to warn you that for some women love and conquest are no more than a game. Be on your guard." He glanced at him to see if he was listening and the moonlight showed that his expression had sobered. "Ever been in love, lad?"

Adam shook his head. "No, I don't think so."

"Well, then. I suppose I'm telling you not to mistake the bauble for the real thing. Women smell good and they're soft and warm and it's easy for a man to get confused when they're close."

He watched the clean profile as Adam gazed out over the water.

"How do you know?" he asked at last. "I mean, when it's the real thing?"

Abel scratched at his chin. "I don't know how to tell you, laddie. I wasn't in love but once in my life - with your grandmother. All I can tell you is that it makes you strong where you never had been and brave where you thought you couldn't be and patient where you thought you never would be. Love with the right woman is about the nearest we come to heaven here on this earth, I suppose. With the wrong one, well - I'm guessing that's about the closest we come to hell."

Adam nodded thoughtfully. "How long were you married?"

"To Meg? A good while. Your mother was almost seventeen when she died. A good girl she was, too - looked out for her old father. Thank God I had her - don't know what I would have done if I hadn't. Like to have lost my mind, I suppose." He saw Adam shift, frowning a little out over the river at the shadows of the buildings on the other side. "Now, what is it you're thinking?"

"Hm? Nothing. I was just…"

Abel studied his expression in the half-light. It was taking him a while to learn how to read Adam, but then it had taken him a while to learn how to read the ocean, too. Both were changeable and inscrutable, but eventually gave up their mysteries to the practiced eye. "It was," he said finally. "The same for your father. If that's what you're wondering."

"It's a little different, I think. I was just a baby and he was traveling west - I was a lot of work for him."

"Doesn't matter." Abel leaned against the rail beside him. "Every day he thanked God for you. I know. You don't."

Adam fixed his eyes on the low hanging moon. "It was so hard on him," he said finally, his voice very soft. "Every time. It hit him so hard. I didn't know my mother, but I did see how losing her affected him. And then Inger…" he paused painfully, "and Marie…" He shook his head. "It always changed everything. Sometimes I think it would be better…"

Abel raised his brows. "Better to - what? Not fall in love?"

Adam shrugged.

"Then you'd be wrong, lad. And you'd miss a great deal. What would my life have been without Meg? And then Elizabeth? Yes, I lost them both, but not to have had them at all? Nah - unthinkable."

Adam turned to look at him. "Did you resent him? When Pa came to take my mother away?"

"Resent him?" Abel paused, wanting to remember, to be honest. "I don't think so. He was a good man, like a son to me, and he made your mother so happy - I couldn't find it in my heart to resent him. And of course - " his eyes twinkled. "They moved in with me, so he didn't take her very far. There were other things I resented, surely, things I wish I'd done differently…but no - I never resented that."

"What things?"

Abel looked startled. "Surely your father's told you?"

Adam shook his head.

Abel was silent. He had often wondered what Benjamin had told Adam of it. Nothing, then. A generous man, Benjamin Cartwright. Not one to carry a grudge, never mind pass one on. "It's not a time I'm especially proud of, lad," he said at last. "I could have done better by your mother and father in those days. I'll tell you about it sometime - I promise. But not tonight. It's late and we should be getting home."

Adam pushed himself away from the railing. "All right. But you don't have to."

"Aye, but I want to. Get it off my chest, like." He draped an arm around Adam's shoulders and turned him in the direction of home. "And then maybe you can tell me some things, too. Like instead of talking about how losing his wives affected your father, maybe we'll talk about how it affected you."

He sighed at the memory. They never had found the time to talk about it and it hung over him now, as grey and dampening as the clouds that sealed out the sky. "I have a lot to answer for," he murmured, mostly to himself. "You don't know."

"I think you're being a little hard on yourself."

He had almost forgotten Mrs. Longworth and glanced up at her where she had paused in her shaving.

"I'm not. You don't know." He picked up what was left of the mangled toast and dabbed it mindlessly at the egg.

Twenty years ago he had left Elizabeth sickening in that same bed for no better purposes than his own foolishness and pride, aye, and had dragged Benjamin from her side, too. By the time they had returned - that is, by the time Benjamin had tried his hand at fixing the mess he'd made and had been able to return …he let the toast dangle from his hand, unnoticed.

Well, not this time. This time, if Ben had questions, he would be able to answer them, be able to tell him he had been there.

History may repeat itself, but it had taught him something, too. This time he was sticking, come what may.

_TBC_

_END OF BOSTON 2_

_Thank you, Tauna! Yes, it was a lucky find for Adam!_


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: So sorry about the posting delay. This week was sad and overwhelming and difficult._

OHIO

_Circe's Island_

(Part 1)

Ben watched with interest the crew of men as they set the gangway in place.

_Cincinnati._

Hard to believe it was the same city. He hefted his modest carpetbag as the crewman gestured for the passengers to come forward and disembark - ladies first, of course. How long ago had it been since he had set foot in Ohio? 1833. Over seventeen years.

He waited his turn patiently. The train for Cleveland didn't leave until 2:30 and he had no other plans except for a trip to the telegraph office. His heart bumped at the thought, but he looked out over the river, forcing himself to steady it.

No sense in borrowing trouble. He would know soon enough.

He finally made his way down the gangway, one of the last in line, touching his hat pleasantly to the crewman assisting passengers onto the dock. The wind off the river was stiff but pleasant and the street that ran alongside it was bursting with sound and color. He strolled along it, admiring the bustle and energy. What he needed now was directions to the telegraph office. He gazed about him, wondering who it would be best to ask, then paused, frowning.

_Was that - ? Yes, apparently it was._

He made his way toward one of the benches facing a view of the river and removed his hat politely. "Mrs. Chambers?"

The woman started in surprise and then smiled up at him. "Why, Mr. Cartwright! I wondered who could be calling me by my name in this strange town!"

He glanced about her, but she seemed to be alone. "Where is Mr. Chambers?"

She laughed lightly. "Oh, Lyle. He had a business meeting. I could have gone with him if I wanted, but I've never been to Cincinnati before and I thought it would be nicer to sit here in the air and look about. It's a very exciting town, isn't it? I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like it."

"Yes - yes, it's very nice - but you shouldn't be sitting here alone - the train isn't until 2:30."

"Oh, Lyle'll be back before then - we'll have lunch somewhere before the train departs. Until then I don't mind sitting here - much better than some stuffy office."

"Well, I have to agree with you on that." He turned his hat in his hands. "Listen - I don't have anything to do either - if you don't mind a side trip to the telegraph office, what do you say to an escort? I can show you a bit of Cincinnati."

She hesitated. "Really, I've imposed on your good nature enough already…"

"Nonsense." Ben held out his arm to her. "I'd enjoy the company."

She studied him for a moment, then smiled. "Well, I admit I'm dying to explore a little - but a woman alone - "

"Yes, I understand. Well, I promise to behave with the utmost propriety."

She laughed now, taking his arm. "I've no doubt about that. So you've been in Cincinnati before?"

"Oh, my, yes - Adam and I spent quite a bit of time here. There was good work for an ex-sailor - on the boats and on the docks. Hard to imagine now, but Cincinnati was the gateway to the west then - much like St. Louis is now."

"Makes you wonder, doesn't it? If the gateway to the west will be even further west in a couple of decades."

Ben smiled. "Well, if it moves too much farther it will turn into the gateway to the Far East! Look - that looks like a telegraph office - let me stop in and then we can promenade." He ushered her inside and saw her comfortably settled on a bench before approaching the operator's window.

"I'm looking for - " he stopped to clear his throat, finding it unexpectedly dry. "A telegram. From Boston. From a Captain Abel Stoddard?"

The operator turned to eye a collection of pigeonholes. "You Benjamin Cartwright?" he asked briskly.

Ben cleared his throat again, his eyes on the piece of paper in the operator's hand. "Yes. Yes, I am."

"This is for you, then. There's two - another one from St. Louis."

"Thank you - " Ben pushed some money through the window. "I'll be sending an answer back…" He took the thin sheets gingerly, turning them over in his hands. The one was from Abel. The other was from Roy - he must have sent it through someone going to St. Louis. He stood fingering them, wondering what kind of news they contained for him.

"I could read them for you, if you like."

He started at the soft voice at his elbow, felt his face redden.

"No - " he replied, a little too quickly. "I - I'll - read them." He slid his thumb under the seal of the one from Boston and carefully unfolded it, turning a little to afford himself some privacy.

"DIAGNOSIS TYPHOID STOP," it read. "WEAK BUT STILL HERE STOP HURRY DON'T STOP ABEL."

He was hardly aware of the rush of air from his lungs, the stinging in the corners of his eyes. In fact, he was hardly aware of the whole telegram, except for the words "weak but still here". Adam was alive - for now, he still had a chance to reach him.

"Good news?"

He glanced up into the quiet, concerned face of Mrs. Chambers, taking a minute to dash his handkerchief at his eyes. "Still alive, as of this telegram." He was quickly calculating the remaining days of travel in his head. "Typhoid, evidently. I don't know much about it, though I've heard of it before."

"Oh." Mrs. Chambers' brow wrinkled and he tried to read her face.

"But you do?"

"Not - not really…" she hesitated. "One of my sisters was in Philadelphia during an epidemic of it, though. Many people died." She saw his face and added hastily, "Many recovered, too, of course."

Ben continued to study her. "Adam is strong," he said, a little defiantly. "Young and strong."

"Of course, that makes a big difference."

"He - he's survived a lot." He folded the telegram carefully, tucking it into his inside pocket and half-heartedly opening the next one. "He's still alive - that's the main thing."

"Of course it is…"

He smoothed out the second telegram, using it to shield his face, which seemed to be working unaccountably. "ME AND JOE OKAY STOP HOPE YOU AND ADAM ARE TOO STOP MISS YOU BUT HOP SING AND SHAUGHNESSY TAKING GOOD CARE OF US STOP LOVE DON'T STOP HOSS" He ran a hand over it and read it again. Love don't stop. Of course he wouldn't - how could he? He smiled at the vagaries of his tired mind.

"I have to send answers…" he went to the window for paper and pen, but also to create some distance for himself. He had been wrong, probably, to even think of trying to be with anyone today, with his heart so raw and his feelings so near the surface. He blotted at his face and studied the paper under his hand. "IN CINCINNATI STOP BE THERE IN FIVE DAYS IF ALL GOES WELL STOP LOVE TO YOU AND ADAM STOP THANK YOU CAPTAIN DON'T STOP BEN PS TAKE CARE OF MY BOY STOP. He frowned at the PS. A stupid thing to add, and expensive, too - of course Abel would - had been, in fact…but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't bring himself to erase it. He addressed it and pushed it hastily through the window, turning his attention to the other telegram. AM WELL AND MAKING GOOD SPEED STOP EXPECT TO SEE ADAM SOON STOP WILL GIVE HIM YOUR LOVE STOP MY LOVE TO YOU AND JOE AND ALL DON'T STOP PA.

He turned to address this one too, and hesitated. Should he address it to Roy? Probably a better choice than Hop Sing since Hop Sing's English was sometimes variable. He started to address it, then paused again.

_Me and Joe okay_…

He had left Hoss with a man-sized job - asked him to do something hard and grownup and it sounded like he was doing it well. Surely that deserved some show of confidence - some recognition of adult responsibility? He stared at the sheet of paper, then scrawled "Erik Cartwright, the Ponderosa, c/o Virginia City/ via St. Louis, and pushed it through the window. Two other boys he had to believe he would see again - had to believe would be fine, even without him there.

He shoved some money after the messages and waited while the operator checked them and counted words and made a little stack of his change. Still he waited, and the operator finally said boredly, "They'll go through in the hour."

Ben nodded, turning away, not quite sure what else he had been waiting for. He felt Mrs. Chambers slip her hand into his arm and give it a little squeeze.

"There'll be another one in Cleveland," Ben explained, not sure why he thought she should care. "Abel and I agreed - every stop with a telegraph office. Cleveland then Buffalo then Albany…" he trailed off. So many cities - so much distance still to be covered. So many opportunities for…he shook himself firmly. No. Adam was a strong boy - he hadn't lied about that. He would see him again - he would not believe otherwise. He couldn't. Typhoid…he would have to find someone who could tell him about typhoid…

"Perhaps we could find a doctor? Someone who could tell you more…"

Ben looked at her in surprise. It had been a long time since a woman had read his mind. "No," he said slowly after a minute. "No, thank you - probably only scare me senseless, and for what? As I said, Adam's frightened me before for nothing. Besides…" he patted her hand absently. "I promised you a promenade."

Outside the wind came up off of the harbor, sending dirt whirling in little eddies. Ben paused, staring, caught for a moment between the present and the past.

"I worked there," he said at last. "Assistant to the Harbor Master. It was one of the few skilled jobs I enjoyed in my travels West. It was a good time for us - after we lost Mrs. Callahan, Adam's nurse, of course, but we had a little more money - a little better accommodations. And the amenities a city had to offer…Cincinnati wasn't much like Boston, but it had it's own kind of culture - a fiercely growing town."

Mrs. Chambers smiled at his tone. "What did you do with Adam?"

"Oh, Adam was with me." Ben started an easy pace along the quay. "After Mrs. Callahan I always tried to take jobs that kept him with me. Not at first, of course - but once I found out about the sort of childcare that was available. You'd be shocked at some of the people who consider themselves suited to care for a young child."

"How old was he when you lost his nurse?"

Ben was quiet a moment. "Two, about. She grew ill - too ill to travel and care for an active toddler. I sent her to her sister's in Pennsylvania and then Adam and I went on alone together."

"Goodness. You cared for a two year old and worked at the same time?"

Ben laughed a little ruefully. "Well, it wasn't my plan, exactly - I tried out a nurse here and a nurse there - but I didn't find them very reliable at the price that I could afford. The last straw was when I came back to our room one day to find the latest nurse passed out on the floor and Adam cheerfully playing with an empty whiskey bottle. I decided then and there that until he could fend for himself a bit I would only take jobs that would allow me to keep him with me."

"That couldn't have been easy."

"No. No, it wasn't." Ben shook his head. "Not at all like I expected it to be. For some reason I thought it would be simple enough - I reasoned that hundreds of women did something very similar every day, so how hard could it be?" Mrs. Chambers shot him a sideways look and they laughed together. "And yes - I learned how wrong I was very quickly. "

"Was Adam a difficult child?"

"Difficult? No, not really. I mean, I may have thought so at the time, but later experience taught me otherwise. No - he was well behaved for the most part, but very curious - and his curiosity sometimes got the better of him. And me." He smiled to himself, his eyes skimming over the row of boats docked and waiting to load or unload. It was a busy harbor, though not as busy as it had been seventeen years ago - the railroad trade had cut back on the steamboats. "In those days Adam and I sat in that little cabin overlooking the wharf, marking ships in and out. We'd occasionally go down to the boats to check out a cargo here or a passenger list there. Adam used to love that."

Mrs. Chambers was silent a moment. "How old did you say he was?"

"Three." He saw her face and shrugged. "He seemed older. You'd have to meet him to understand. And no one seemed to mind." The steermen and their crews had become so familiar with the sight of Adam trailing him like a small shadow as he made these inspections that they barely remarked on it, except maybe to absently pat his head or slip him a peppermint or a lemon drop or two. "He was very quiet for the most part - I almost forgot he was there sometimes myself." He sighed a little. "Of course, I _learned_ to remember - the hard way. So much of parenthood is learned the hard way, I find."

He stood a moment, watching the long line of smokestacks bellowing smoke, listening to the musical cry of the whistles as ships signaled their arrivals and departures, gripped in an almost painful fist of reminiscence. Adam had been fascinated by those smokestacks - had stared and stared at them, trying to figure out where all the smoke came from.

"Pa, " he had asked him once, tugging on his pant leg to get his attention, "Is there a stove on board?"

Ben had been busily checking an inventory list and only gave him half an ear. "Well, I suppose there's a stove of some sort, Adam, since there's a cook and a galley - that's a ship's kitchen - but that smoke is from the engine. The thing that makes the boat go."

"Oh." Adam stared harder, as though the sheer act of desire would make the smokestacks release all their secrets to him. "Smoke makes the boat go?"

"Not smoke, Adam - steam. That's why they're called steamboats." Ben moved toward the gangway, not really noticing Adam wasn't quite with him until he heard him scrambling to catch up.

"Pa."

"Yes, Adam."

"Like the kettle?"

"What's that?" Adam gave him a look of mild exasperation and he slowed himself to listen more carefully.

"Steam?" Adam repeated.

"Oh. Oh, yes. Steam. Like the kettle."

Adam stuck his fingers in his mouth and sucked them thoughtfully. He knew something about steam - had had a rather nasty encounter with it at one point that had robbed him of all desire to put his hand in the middle of a cloud of it to touch again. "How?" he asked finally.

"How?" repeated Ben absent-mindedly, shuffling through his papers. "Good heavens, Adam, I don't know - you'd need to ask Mr. Fulton or Mr. Fitch or whoever this week's scuttlebutt says is the inventor the steam engine."

This time he had only gone a few steps before he noticed Adam was not beside him. He turned to look for him, a little impatient. What had gotten into the boy today?

Adam was staring at him intently. "Say it again," he demanded.

Ben shook his head. "Say - ? Oh, scuttlebutt?"

"Scubblebutt," Adam repeated, frowning.

'That's scuTTle - tuh - I'm not sure that's a very good word for you to learn anyway, Adam. It's just sailor slang."

Adam blinked. "What's slang?"

"Slang is - well, it's - language that's not quite proper."

Adam sucked thoughtfully on his three favorite fingers again. "Bad words?"

"No, not really bad, but - I thought we had agreed that you were too old for that, young man?"

Adam noticed his fingers in his mouth and hastily removed them, clasping them behind his back. "How come? Slang?"

"Well, they're not REAL words, they're…" Ben made a face. How the devil did somebody explain slang?

"How can they not be real? How can we say them, then?"

"By not real I mean - well, I mean - " Ben shook himself, then reached down and grabbed Adam's hand to hurry him along. "It's just not a word you need to know. Come along now, I have a lot of work to do."

Ben broke off his story to glare at Mrs. Chambers. "Oh, yes - it's all very well for YOU to laugh - you try and explain slang to a three year old! Particularly a very persistent three year old! I don't think Adam ever forgot anything in his life."

Mrs. Chambers chuckled. "Yes, I can see that. Go on."

"Seriously, these old stories must be boring you to death."

"No, not at all! In fact, I positively must know if poor Adam ever got to find out the workings of a steam engine or the meaning of slang!"

"Ah, yes, well…" Ben shook his head. "He certainly made his best effort. Well, there was some trouble with the inventory list. We were fairly strict about them in those days since a number of boats were suspected of smuggling."

Ben recalled with some amusement how mortified the Captain had been - insisting he'd never had a black mark against his name. "It'll take me a bit to straighten it out, though - why don't you go below to the galley - have some coffee and pie while I talk to m'mate. It's right at the end of the stairs, other side of the engine room."

Ben had obediently made his way to the galley, knowing that if anything were amiss the Captain would have time to destroy the evidence or ditch hidden cargo. It didn't matter particularly - as long as the cargo didn't make it into port; that was all that mattered. An expensive loss was sometimes the best lesson anyway. So he settled down with a piece of peach pie and a steaming cup of coffee in front of him.

"Somethin' fer ya, little feller?"

Ben raised his brows in surprise when Adam shook his head. Usually Adam liked pie. "You sure, son? You feeling all right?" Adam nodded and Ben noticed his preoccupation with the small porthole windows of the lower decks and nodded that it was all right for him to move to the built in bench beneath them. "All right - don't stand on the bench to look out, though."

Adam obediently dropped to his knees.

Ben saw that he was securely settled then turned his attention back to his pie. The cabin boy topped off his coffee and set another cup for one of the pilots who had come down from above for a free bite before looking for lodgings in port.

The pilot cheerfully accepted his own piece of pie and eyed Ben shrewdly.

"Signing on?" he asked innocently.

"No - I work in the harbor. Just checking you folks through."

"Eh." The pilot nodded, spearing into his pie. "Then you're not a boatman?"

"I used to sail on clippers, but no, I don't know the river."

The pilot nodded again. "Verra diff'runt thing, the river. Gotta know her like yer hand - day or night, all kindsa weather. Takes a special sorta man."

"I'm sure that's so," agreed Ben politely, "But the same thing can really be said of the ocean."

The pilot slurped at his coffee, settling in for a good argument. "Ah, but the ocean, she's deep - deep at almost every point. The river'll shallow out on ya without warnin' - can run her aground with no notice whatsoever."

"I suppose," Ben nodded seriously, accepting the gauntlet. "But it's difficult to get lost in the river - not so vast as the ocean. The ocean seems to go on forever…a man has to know how to steer without a single landmark in sight except the stars."

The pilot begrudgingly allowed as how this was so. "Still - " he challenged, chawing at his pie, "there's some room to spread about in the ocean. In the river, now - there you're riding cheek to jowl with other steamers, small craft and the like. Half the time most of 'em run without a single lantern on the darkest night. Ocean'd be too tough for 'em - yes, on the ocean you're spared them nuisances."

Ben pretended to consider this, then nodded. "There's something to what you say, of course. But at least in the river you never have to deal with deep sea life. You haven't lived until you've seen what a run in with a whale can do to a clipper."

The pilot looked stintingly impressed. "Never seen one of them whales," he admitted. "Hear they're a fearsome sight."

"Fearsome, indeed. Why, I remember a time - " Ben could never remember later exactly how long he had sat and traded sailing yarns with the old pilot - only that it had taken several cups of coffee. What he always remembered, though, so clearly that it woke him up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat for weeks to come, was the moment when the Captain arrived to summon him and he had turned around and realized that Adam was no longer kneeling on the bench under the porthole. At first he had just shot his eyes around the room, looking, but as he realized that no corner of the compact galley concealed a small, dark haired boy, he felt a surge of panic in his chest.

He seized hold of the cabin boy, who was just arriving with another pot of coffee. "My son - " he said urgently, "He was over there - "

The boy smiled cheerfully. "That he was, mister. I remember clear as day."

"He's not now, though - "

"Nope." The boy's head bobbed in agreement. "Nope - he sure ain't."

Ben fought the urge to shake him. Really, it wasn't his fault, after all. "Did you see him go anywhere…?"

The boy put down the coffeepot to scratch his scalp. "Now - I been running back and forth to the cook doin' my usual - can't say as I noticed," he decided after a moment's serious consideration. He brightened. "Maybe he's up on deck?"

Ben bit his lip. The same thought had occurred to him - staring at the smokestacks, maybe…he was reassuring himself all the way up the flights of stairs to the top deck that Adam might be small, but he was still too large to fit between the rail slats and tumble into the river. He made a sweep of one deck and then the next - so many places for a little boy to hide…where would he go? What would he want to see? Adam was usually happy enough to sit and listen - what would be so pressing to him that he might…? Ben slowed and then stopped, realization dawning. "Captain," he said slowly, "where did you say the engine room was?"

The Captain looked at him sympathetically. "Just down from the galley…oh." He smiled through his beard. "Why don't we give it a look?"

Ben almost tumbled down the steps in his haste to get below again, not even bothering to wait for the Captain. He pushed his way to the engine room, oblivious to the mounting heat and stench, and all but burst through the door.

Two busy firemen and the engineer glanced up at him with little interest. Ben was out of breath from his dash, so before he could speak the engineer drawled, "Come ta fetch that one, have ya?" He gestured with his head to a small, sooty figure perched on a stack of wood, sucking his middle three fingers and staring intently at the massive engine the engineer was judiciously feeding water.

"Adam!" Ben barked - and because he couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry he blurted, "Fingers, young man?"

Adam hastily snatched his fingers from his mouth and tucked them behind him. "Look, Pa." He pointed with his other hand. "Steam."

Ben was upon him in one stride, snatching him from the woodpile and trying to look less panicked and more stern. "Adam, what on earth were you - and those fingers are covered with soot! You do NOT put them in your mouth when - " he remembered his audience suddenly and glanced around, reddening. "I - I apologize for my son - he does know better. I hope he didn't cause you too much trouble. Adam, apologize to the men for disturbing them."

Adam looked puzzled. "I didn't - "

"Adam!" Ben's voice was firm.

The engineer shrugged. "He weren't no trouble, mister. Just sat there an' looked - showed'em a few things. Was good ta see somebody take an interest in the engine, even a little shaver - "

Adam's black brows drew together. "I'm three," he piped up indignantly.

"Adam - " warned Ben, but the engineer grinned.

"Ah, well, yer old enough ta reckernize a good thing when ya see it - she's a beautiful sight, eh? Not enough folk realize…" He reached over to tousle Adam's hair. "Figgered somebody'd be along ta claim 'em eventually."

Ben gave him an exasperated stare, then turned a disapproving look on his son. "Adam, apologize to these gentlemen and to the Captain. Then we're going to have a little talk about wandering off."

Adam frowned, but he knew no argument would be tolerated so he said, "I'm sorry," half-heartedly, his eyes drifting back to the engine.

Ben nodded briskly. "Now, I am going to conclude my business with the Captain and you are going to stay with me the whole time - then we are going to have our talk. Understood?" Adam didn't respond, so Ben took his chin in his hand and turned his face away from the engine and back to him. "I said, understood?"

Adam nodded.

Ben rubbed futiley at a soot stain on the round cheek. "You, " he said bluntly, "are a mess."

He couldn't quite bring himself to put Adam down again, though he could see the Captain and his crew found his predicament amusing - and so he signed papers and checked cargoes with Adam sitting firmly on his hip. Adam, who was used to a measure of independence, seemed to like it even less than he did, but he also seemed to know that he had pushed his luck about as far as it would go today, so he bore it stoically.

Finally, with all his official duties aboard the steamer done, Ben headed down the dock and back towards the Harbor Master's station. Halfway there he sat Adam on a piling where he could meet his eye easily and looked at him firmly. "Adam," he said very seriously. "You must never again wander off when nobody knows where you are. Never, do you hear me?"

Adam studied him. "I knew where I was, Pa," he pointed out.

Ben sighed. "Well, that's all very well, but - perhaps I need to be more specific. You must never wander off unless _I_ know where you are. Adam, anything could happen to you. It's very dangerous."

Adam eyed him with interest. "What things?"

"Well - any - bad things. You could fall in the water or get lost or hurt yourself - and I wouldn't know where to find you. You wouldn't like that, would you?"

Adam shook his head.

"So if you feel you need to leave for any reason, you must come tell me first. Understood?"

Adam looked speculative. "Even if I interrupt?"

"Yes - well, I don't want you to interrupt frivolously, of course - I expect you to use good judgment - "

Adam's eyes grew round. "Say it again."

"Say - ? What, judgment?"

Adam nodded. "What's jud - juj - " he stopped in frustration.

"Judgment." Ben repeated. "It's something you'll need to cultivate. The good kind, that is."

"What's frivlis?"

"Fri - ? Oh. Oh, frivolously? That's - that's - well, that's not important right now. What's important is, do you understand? That you aren't to wander off anywhere - EVER - without speaking to me first?"

Adam nodded.

"Good." Ben moved to lift him down from the piling.

"Pa - " Adam's voice stopped him.

"Yes, son?"

"How does it _work_?"

"Work? Well, before you go anywhere you just - " he stopped, suspicion dawning, and, following Adam's eyes, glanced over his shoulder to see smokestacks cheerfully spouting smoke behind him. "Adam! Have you been listening to a word I said?"

Adam looked at him as though he wasn't quite sure what the best answer would be.

Ben groaned. "Adam, when I'm talking to you, you need to listen - pay attention to what I'm saying and learn what I'm trying to teach you! Do you understand me? I need you to focus on what I'm saying, son!"

Ben stopped his story again to look reproachfully at Mrs. Chambers. "I'm glad my early efforts at child rearing provide you with so much amusement."

Mrs. Chambers tried to suppress her giggles. "I - I'm so sorry. But - but - "

Ben tried to hide his own smile. "Well, you must remember that I had virtually no experience with children - it seemed like a perfectly reasonable request at the time. Of course, several years and two more three year olds later I learned to adjust my expectations a little."

Mrs. Chambers threw back her head and laughed at that, and after a second, Ben joined her. The breeze off the quay stiffened and Mrs. Chambers reached up to tuck some loose hair back into her bonnet. "So," she smiled, "Did Adam ever manage to learn good judgment?"

"Hm? Oh - yes. Yes, for his age, I suppose he has."

"And scuttlebutt? Did he ever work that one out?"

"I suspect he knows many more words than I do at this point and some that I don't even want to know about."

"And what about the steam engines? Did he ever find out about those?"

Ben thought about all the things Adam had been so hungry to know - the things that had pushed him East to school - secrets that he may never have the opportunity to unlock now.

"I hope so," he said, suddenly solemn. "I certainly hope so."

_TBC_

_Thanks, Tauna. Yes, memories are our friends and our tormentors._


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Well my computer is back from the computer hospital, hardrive intact, so I can post again!_

OHIO

_Circe's Island_

(Part 2)

"Well, Mr. Cartwright, you did not lie - Cincinnati is a charming city."

Ben glanced up from admiring the view of the Ohio over the rim of his coffee cup to meet her smiling eyes. "It is indeed. Almost as charming as the company."

Mrs. Chambers laughed, lifting her teacup. "Well, you were a wonderful guide. I can't thank you enough. I would have been so disappointed to have passed through without seeing a bit of it." She glanced at the clock on the wall of the small, snug tea room. "I suppose Lyle will be along any minute now. The train is in only three hours."

Ben nodded, his expression darkening slightly as he felt the slight crinkle of the telegrams tucked away inside his jacket pocket. "And we'll be on our way to Cleveland. I really owe you thanks. You've helped take my mind off of things a bit."

"Then that was my pleasure. Did you stay here long in your travels? When did you leave?"

"We were here a while." Ben paused as the round little waitress brought him more coffee and another plate of muffins. "We left in early spring - summered in Indiana." His eyebrows drew together slightly. "Now, that's something I hadn't thought about in years." He added a dollop of cream to his coffee, musing absently that there really was nothing in the city that could compare to cream from your own cow. He stirred it carefully, looked up to see Mrs. Chambers eyes resting on him with a pleasant question in them.

A smile quirked at her mouth. "I've pried so much already," she explained apologetically, "that it's become almost a habit now."

Ben chuckled softly in return. "Well, this one may not be such a pleasant story. The truth is that Adam and I snuk out of Cincinnati like criminals. It's entirely possible that there are still charges of some kind leveled against me here."

Mrs. Chambers placidly selected a muffin from the plate on the table. "You shock me very much," she said comfortably. "What nefarious criminal deeds are you guilty of? Or was Adam the guilty party?"

Ben leaned back in his chair, his eyes admiring the panoramic view of the waterfront through the plate glass window. "Now, Adam was precocious but I don't think he was capable of getting us into trouble with the law at the tender age of three." He hesitated. "Mrs. Chambers - "

"You know," she interrupted, "If you are going to divulge your criminal past to me, you might at least call me Katherine."

Ben smiled, but the smile was a little troubled. "I would be honored. Provided you agree to call me Ben."

She nodded. "Ben. A good, strong name. It suits you."

Ben sighed. "Mrs. - Katherine. I realize suddenly that I know very little about you. My story may shock you. If you prefer to keep your distance after hearing it, then I'll understand."

Mrs. Chambers lifted her brows delicately. "I find that very hard to imagine."

Ben gave her a piercing look. "Very well. But I did warn you." His eyes returned to the waterfront, remembering another waterfront seventeen years ago.

"I told you about my job as Assistant Harbor Master. About the smuggling that was so common at the time."

Katherine nodded encouragingly.

"It took on all kinds of forms - forms I'd barely imagined myself, though I suppose I'd heard of them. Not that I saw much of it - mine was the day shift and it was much less common during daylight hours. Jim Pierson worked the night shift most nights. One night he took sick, though - very suddenly - and the Harbor Master asked if I would be willing to take his shift. Night work paid a little extra - I figured, why not?" He paused, sipping his coffee, studying the view before him but seeing something else. "I brought Adam with me, of course, and settled him down with a pillow and blanket on a bench in the Watch House. He was pretty used to sleeping anywhere that was reasonably warm and dry so he was out like a light in no time. After that, the shank of the shift was usually just boring, compared to day shift. Much less traffic."

Now that he let himself remember, it was as vivid as yesterday. A clear, chilly night - the sky a panoply of stars. He had checked in an old barge - just cargo this time, no passengers - and was waiting for the captain to come complete his paperwork and perhaps chat for a bit - relieve the monotony. A stirring in the dark made him think the captain was on his way, then he noticed that the captain was not alone - three dark, barely discernible shadows followed him, bobbing silently in his wake.

Ben felt the hair lift from the back of his neck. Something was wrong - he could sense it.

He gave a quick glance at the shock of curly black hair peeking from the bundle of blankets, but Adam seemed deeply asleep. After a brief hesitation, he picked up the pistol from under the counter, checked to be sure it contained ball and powder and, slipping it under his coat, went outside - pulling the door to behind him without quite shutting it tight. He took three steps away from it, moving to meet the small, shadowy party.

The man in front had his hat pulled low over his forehead and stopped suddenly at the sight of him, looking unsure. He cleared his throat. "I be lookin' fer Jim Pierson?"

Ben let his hand rest on the reassuring weight of the pistol under his jacket. "Jim is sick tonight. I'm on duty. Something I can do for you?"

There was a pause, and the whole party shifted uneasily. Ben could sense their tension and exhaustion.

The man in front cleared his throat again. "Naw, well - we was just here ta say hello ta Jim - if he ain't around, we'll be on our way."

Ben didn't move from in front of him. "Odd time of night for visiting," he suggested.

Another uncomfortable tremor ran through the small party, the anxiety so palpable that it made the muscles at the base of Ben's neck ache.

"You came from a freighter - not a passenger boat," he pointed out quietly. "Are these stowaways?"

The man cleared his throat again, like a nervous tick. "Naw - what are ya sayin'? Of course not. Now, we ain't botherin' you none - we'll be on our way."

Ben tightened his grip on the pistol. "I am charged with the duty of watching this harbor. If your - friends - are entering illegally then it's my responsibility to stop you."

The silence was long and highly charged.

Ben set his teeth - there were at least four of them and one of him - he looked again - no, one looked to be a woman. Three against one, then…

The leader raised his hands placatingly. "Lookee, mister, we don't mean no man no harm. Just out fer a stroll. Just let us pass and you won't have no trouble from us."

Ben took a deep breath. "I can't do that. I have a responsibility to the Harbor Master. Now, either you state your business…" he looked at them more closely and realized suddenly why the other three were so difficult to see in the dark. They were Negroes. A very large young man, a tall, lean older man and a woman - all three looking thin, ragged and exhausted. He blinked in sudden realization. All the stories he'd heard - the rumors - suddenly rose up to meet him. "You're slaves," he murmured, hardly realizing he's spoken aloud.

"Not on this side of the Ohio, mistah," the older black man spoke in a voice hoarse with strain and exhaustion. "Not no mo', if you turn yo' head whiles we walks away."

Ben stared. Helping escaped slaves was against the law anywhere in the United States. Even slaves who made it to the north could be captured and returned to their masters. Harboring a slave or helping one to escape carried a severe penalty - sometimes even death. He wasn't really sure how he felt about slavery - hadn't ever had cause to give it much thought - but he had been charged with a job and he knew perfectly well how he felt about fulfilling his responsibilities. He glanced from one to the other measuringly. He was outnumbered, but they were exhausted. Maybe -

"Pa?"

The small treble voice struck an odd note in the middle of the standoff and Ben felt his heart tremble in his chest. He licked his lips and took a careful step to the side so he could still keep his adversaries in view and avoid turning his back on them, but could get a glimpse of the Watch House door as well.

Adam stood in the doorway, rubbing his eyes with one fist and dragging the blanket behind him with the other. "Pa?" he repeated sleepily.

Ben glanced at the group in front of him, suddenly feeling sick. "Adam," he instructed quietly, "go back inside."

He saw Adam glance dubiously over his shoulder at the shadowy interior of the Watch House and then back at him, hesitating. Ben thought he would choke on the heart that had somehow become firmly lodged in his throat. "Adam," he repeated, as calmly as he could manage, "do as I say, please. Go back inside."

Adam glanced over his shoulder again, fidgeted with the blanket, looked back at his father.

Ben thought he would scream in terror and frustration. Surely these people wouldn't harm a little boy? A child? He glanced back at them appraisingly.

"He's skeered to go in alone."

The soft, sweet voice surprised him, and he looked down a goodly ways to the woman huddled in the thin shawl. "Lord 'a mussy - he's jest a baby."

Adam's brows drew together. "I'm three, " he insisted, though his usual conviction sounded a little shaky.

An unexpected laugh rippled through the group and the tension eased some.

The woman looked past Ben to Adam, rubbing unconsciously at her arms for warmth. "I could - " she hesitated, then continued boldly, "I could sit with him - fer a bit - while you menfolks settles bizness…"

Ben shifted his feet. These people were desperate. How foolish would it be to let this total stranger sit with his son in the middle of such a volatile situation?

He looked down at her again. She had pushed the shawl away from her face and he saw her wistful, yearning expression, stretched with weariness and sadness. He paused. No matter how hard he tried, he could not imagine this woman hurting his son. He glanced back at Adam.

"Well…" Lord, how had he gotten himself into this situation? "He doesn't always take to strangers…"

But he knew she was right. Adam was used to waking up in strange places, but he wasn't used to waking up in them alone, and though he knew he would rather die than admit it to his father, Ben could tell that he was indeed frightened.

The woman walked past him as though drawn by a string and squatted down in front of Adam.

"I'm Hattie," she said, in her pretty, mellow voice. "Who ah yo', sugah?"

Adam glanced at Ben and, receiving a nod, answered, "Adam," in a small voice.

"Adam, " Hattie repeated. "Why, that's from the Bible, ain't it?"

Adam nodded shyly.

"Well, sugah, why don' yo' come inside with me an' we'll sit fer a piece while yo' Daddy settles bizness out heah? That be okay wit' yo'?"

Adam glanced at Ben again and, receiving another nod, blinked up at Hattie and nodded.

Hattie chuckled. "Well, yo' shuah is a purty thing. Come on, now - " she pushed to her feet and held out her hand.

Adam eyed the hand speculatively. "Can you read?" he asked hopefully.

"No, sugah - I can't."

Adam sighed. "Me neither." He slipped his hand into hers. "My Pa is teaching me, though."

"Well, if I get ta stay heah, maybe somebody'll teach me, too."

Adam tilted his head at her. "My Pa says everybody should be able to read."

Hattie gave a low laugh that sounded like music. "Well, wheah I growed up, learnin' ta read was agin the law fer my kind. Shuah would like a chance ta learn…" She steered Adam gently back into the Watch House.

Ben followed as far as the door, planting himself next to it and leaving the door ajar, not caring whether or not he offended anyone. He was a father first, after all. He raised his eyes defiantly to the group in front of him and surprised a look of rueful appreciation on the lean older man's face. A quick moment of fatherly understanding flashed between them.

The man looked embarrassed and dropped his eyes. When he raised them again, his guard was somewhat back in place. "I thank yo', " he said gruffly. "She'll be real good with 'em. Jest about yearns fer them little ones since we lost our own boy."

Ben felt some of the stiffness melt out of him, shot a look over his shoulder to where Hattie had settled on the bench under the window with Adam snuggled against her.

"Adam and I - " the words snagged in his throat and he frowned deeply and tried again, "we lost Elizabeth - Adam's mother, too. I'm sorry to hear about your boy."

The man looked puzzled for a minute, then seemed almost sardonically amused. "Oh, my boy ain't dead, mistah. Least ways, not so's I knows. Sold away from us- when he was jest a little older than yo's. 'Bout broke Hattie's heart. Figgahed if'n we's free, though, well - maybe someday…" his voice trailed off and he shrugged.

Ben stared hard at him, then back at the shadowy corner that showed Hattie and Adam in silhouette. Losing Liz had been the great tragedy of his life - had very nearly torn the soul out of him - but at least it had been a random act of fate or providence. How would it have been to have had her ripped out of his arms - or Adam snatched away from him - for simple reasons of commerce and profit? He leaned heavily against the wall behind him, his head reeling.

"My Pa tells me stories sometimes - even without reading," he heard Adam hint innocently, and he couldn't suppress a smile. Trust Adam to wheedle a story out of a stranger.

"Well, I don' know as I know all that many stories…" Hattie's warm voice made him feel confident despite his fears. "But my boy used ta love fer me ta sing him ta sleep. You like ta be sung to?"

"I don't know."

Ben closed his eyes tight, forgetting for the moment that he could be in danger. _Of course he didn't know. No one sang to him. A boy needed a mother to sing to him - lullabies - nursery rhymes - nonsense songs…_

"Well, why don' we try it an' see hows you like it? You know the stars, sugah?"

"Uh-huh. My Pa taught me. He's a sailor."

"Well, now, that's fine. Yo' know the drinking gourd?"

There was a silence, then Adam's voice said reproachfully, "That's the Big Dipper. My Pa says so."

Hattie laughed again. "Well, a dippah's the same as a drinking gourd, ain't it?"

Adam's voice sounded dubious. "I guess so."

"So this song is secret code. Drinking gourd means Big Dippah. It's a secret map fo' folks what's makin' theys way no'th."

He could make out the rustle of the blankets as Adam snuggled down. "My Pa and me are makin' our way west. Do you know any secret songs for that?"

There was a brief silence. "No, sugah, 'fraid I don' - wheres I come from everybody wants ta go no'th. Wheres they can learn ta read…wheres they can sing their babies ta sleep…yo' wanna heah it?"

"Uh-huh." Adam's voice sounded drowsy

The singing started soft and low. "_When the sun comes up and the first quail calls…follow the drinking gourd…for the old man is awaitin' to carry you to freedom…follow the drinking gourd_…"

Ben opened his eyes and gazed at the shadowy figures. Even with the molasses-smooth drawl, in the uncertain light it took only the smallest imagination to pretend that he was seeing what he had never gotten to see - Elizabeth singing Adam to sleep. He stared at the scene hungrily, trying to fix it in his mind.

"_The river bank makes a very good road…the dead trees will show you the way_…" Hattie's voice was warm and sweet and true. "_Left foot, peg foot, traveling on…follow the drinking gourd_…"

Ben turned his head away, his eyes suddenly damp, and saw the face of the lean man, reflecting his as clearly as a mirror. He glanced back inside the Watch House - knew exactly what the lean man was seeing there.

"_The river ends between two hills…follow the drinking gourd…there's another river on the other side…follow the drinking gourd…_"

He felt a powerful kinship with this man - his family truncated - desperately seeking a new place to set down new roots and heal… So many families torn apart. Good God, where did it end?

"_Where the great big river meets the little river…follow the drinking gourd…for the old man is awaiting for to carry you to freedom…follow the drinking gourd_…"

The last word fell away to soft humming and Ben realized with a start that he had a job he was supposed to be doing. He leaned even more heavily into the wall, his eyes fixed on the outline of the woman with his little boy's head on her knee. He cleared his throat, never moving his gaze. "You'd best be moving along. I have another boat due within the hour."

He felt the leader shift on his feet. "Beg pardon, sir?"

"I said you'd best hurry. Don't want to be caught here. It's a clear night - they could easily get here early."

The man scratched at his head and stared at him, but the lean man pushed past him. "Hattie," he called softly. "We's gotsa be goin'."

Hattie looked down at the head in her lap and gave it a final stroke before shifting it back to the pillow with a mother's deftness. She stood stiffly, her tiredness suddenly showing, and moved silently to his side.

In the faint, reflected light Ben could see the questions in her eyes. He stayed, unmoving, in his position against the wall. "Thank you for singing my boy back to sleep."

She gave him a tiny, shy smile. The lean man moved her gently aside, fumbling at a pouch fastened inside his shirt. "We got a few dollas…"

Ben left his hands in his pockets and made no move to take the proffered coins. "Good," he said with finality. "You'll need them. You'd best be on your way, now."

The leader stared at him a moment, then glanced over his shoulder at the knot of fugitives behind him. He opened his mouth, then closed it, his face unreadable. Then he touched his cap to him and jerked his head in signal to the three ragged followers.

The lean man glanced back at Ben, clutching his wife's elbow in one hand and his tattered money pouch in the other. He looked like he wanted to say something but wasn't sure what.

Ben gave him a brief nod. "Good luck to you, " he whispered.

"You too, suh." Their eyes met and for a second they felt almost like the same man.

Ben hesitated as he saw them move away. "You never told me your name," he called after him, quietly, almost sure they wouldn't hear, shaking his head at himself. _As if names were important. Nay, worse - in a situation_ _like this names were downright dangerous_.

"Benjamin…" The name floated back on the breeze.

Ben smiled faintly to himself. _Benjamin. Of course it was._

He pushed himself finally away from the wall and strolled back into the Watch House, shutting the door against the cold. Through the large northern window he could clearly make out the Big Dipper hanging in the sky, pointing demurely to the North Star. It looked clear and bright and beautiful tonight, shining strongly from among all the others. He had some paper work he should be doing - a great deal, really…but...after a moment he sat down on the bench instead, turning so that he could clearly see the constellation. He reached down and gently stroked the hair curling over Adam's ear.

Adam was a light sleeper and his slumber had already been interrupted once tonight…but he couldn't help himself. After a second he gathered him into his lap and, holding his sleeping son, gazed out at the stars.

_TBC_


End file.
